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HULDA.. 


A ROMANCE OF THE WEt T 

(DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH ^ToF 


By HRS. L. H. SHUEY 



rary of Choice Fiction— Monthly. By subscription, $6.00 per annum. No. 70, Jan., 1894. 
Entered at Chicago Postoffice as second-class matter. 


Chicago: LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 














* 


* 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 















/ 













































































































































































. 

- „ 






































. - 






~ 



Hu Ida was the Tomboy of the Village. 


David of Juniper Gulch- 









HULDA 


A ROMANCE OF THE WEST 

(DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH) 


BY 

Lillian Shuey 

Author of ••California sunshine, m Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED L/ ^ j 



Chicago 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 


a 









ENTERED 


According to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen 
hundred and ninety four, by 

LAIRD & LEE 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress 
at Washington. 


Copyright, 1895, by William H. Lee. 
(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) 





CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PASE 

I. Hulda and David. 9 

II. The Dove and the Fox. 26 

III. A Girl’s Journey. 35 

IV. A Joke taken Practically. 48 

V. Hardup Life. 57 

VI. The Teachers’ Examination. 71 

VII. A Great Bereavement. 86 

VIII. David’s Plotting. 91 

IX. Cherry Valley. 99 

X. The Ride. 113 

XI. Cis Beverly. 124 

XII. David’s Bet. 133 

XIII. The “Bate SF.S AND THE DORMSES”.... I44 

XIV. The Pi CNIC. . 158 

XV. T. he Line Fence. . 176 

XVI. Summer Days. 195 

XVII. A Snowy Ride. 210 

XVIII. Mrs. Cornman. 228 

XIX. Dark Days. 233 





















6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. The Inquisition. 243 

XXI. The Summer Boarder. 260 

XXII. A Sure Proof. 269 

XXIII. The Picture. 289 

XXIV. “The Child is Mine!”. . .. 302 

XXV. Assembly Bill no. 334. 310 

XXVI. The Assembly Room . 318 

XXVII. The Picture Again. 339 

XXVIII. Dr. Welcome. 349 

XXIX. David’s Lawyer. 365 

XXX. Festivities at the Imperial. 372 

XXXI. Willie. 381 

XXXII. Lila. 395 















CAST OF THE STORY. 



Max Royse. 

Mrs. 'Minerva Ellis 


Mining and Real Estate Agent. 


Sam 


.Lodging-house Keeper. 

Chinaman, servant of Mrs. Ellis. 


Mr. Joseph Cornman 
Hicks. 


.. Pedagogue. 
Stage Driver. 


David Strong. 

Hulda Hardy. 

Mrs. Hardy. 

Grandpa and Grandma Beverly. 
Cis Beverly. 


School-girl. 

School-boy. 


Millie Bates 
Buck Dorms. 


Edward La Grange. 

Aurelia Hawthorne Stalker. 

The Rev. Graceway and Wife. 

Mr. and Mrs. Woods. 

The “Bateses” and the “Dormses” 

Mrs. Markham. 

Satsuma, j Servants of 
Donovan, ( Mrs. Markham. 


( 7 ) 



















DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


CHAPTER I. 

HULDA AND DAVID. 

In the placer regions of California in the little min¬ 
ing town of Hardup, there lived, at the opening of my 
story,Mrs. Thomas Hardy and her only child, Hulda, 
a girl of eighteen years. 

Hardup, like many of its inhabitants had seen bet¬ 
ter days, as many of its mines had been worked out 
and abandoned. 

The paying mines, that were being developed at 
this time, were owned by established Hydraulic com¬ 
panies; many of the citizens of the old placer town 
being employed as laborers. 

The people of the county were finding out that 
fruit could be cultivated on the pleasant hills, and in the 
open valleys, and that the country was desirable to 
live in, as well as to cut to pieces with mining ope¬ 
rations; and so Hardup lived on dreaming of its old 
prosperity, and hoping for better times when they 
would be justified in painting up their houses and re¬ 
pairing their old stores and churches. 

Hardup lay in a diversified valley, forest covered 
mountains rising on the south and east, and lower 

9 


IO 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


brushy hills on the west. The children of the town, 
knowing nothing to fear in the pine woods, were wont 
to troop in a body to the mountains and forests on 
Saturday, there to grow brown and rugged, chasing 
the birds and rabbits, and seeking fruits and flowers. 

In the springtime were the sweet pink manzanita 
blossoms, the white mountain lilies, the mariposa 
lilies and the rare tiger lilies; these last always in 
rocky and almost inaccessible places. 

In summer there were the manzanita-berries, elder¬ 
berries, June apples, wild grapes, goose-berries and 
thimble-berries. 

Later the hazel-nuts and pine-nuts lured them to 
longer tramps in the hot, still afternoons. Always 
as they played and rambled, they sought for the 
nuggets of gold that they never found but they were 
laying up, nevertheless, treasures of health and in¬ 
spiration. 

The Methodist church annually sent to Hardup a 
minister who lived on a very small salary, abetted by 
much self-supplied hope and grace. There were many 
vacant houses in Hardup, and the little unpainted 
church looked old and worn, with but fifteen years of 
service. 

Thomas Hardy had come to Hardup in the days 
of its prosperity, and, being ignorant of the ways and 
workings of California mines, had been led into 
speculations till he had lost all his capital. His little 
cottage home, and ten acres of unimproved land back 
of it, not being considered property of any value in 
those days. 


HULDA AND DAVID 


II 


One morning while handling a heavy stream of 
water in a great rubber hose, the pipe slipped from 
his cold hands, and, whipped under the falling bank 
by the whirling* monster, he was hurried to his death. 

He had been overseeing a large force of laborers, 
and was justly beloved by them. The days of warm¬ 
hearted, impulsive deeds among the miners had not 
yet departed, and a week after the funeral, several 
men in rubber boots tramped into the widow’s house, 
and laid a little book on Mrs. Hardy’s table. “It’s 
in the bank at Forest Grove,” said the spokesman, 
“It’s a thousand dollars. We thought we owed it to 
him, us and the company, ma’am, for he was the best 
boss we ever had.” 

These good people recognized that Mrs. Hardy 
had neither the courage or ability to support herself. 
Gentle in manner, and of the most refined habits,she 
had no power to successfully enter the money-making 
openings for women at that time. After some reflect¬ 
ion she concluded to accept the gift. She knew, as 
the miners well understood, that all her husband’s 
money had been lost in starting the mines there, and 
it was generally regarded by herself and others as an 
act of justice, inspired by those who had reaped a 
great harvest from his hazardous sowing. 

The town also began to improve at that time; a 
schoolhouse was built on the flat below the widow’s 
cottage, and the school-teachers sometimes came to 
board wtih Mrs. Hardy. With the plain sewing that 
came in abundance to her hand, Mrs. Hardy lived a 
quiet and unambitious life devoted to the memory of 


12 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


her husband, to her church, and to her plain and un¬ 
worldly friends of the Methodist persuasion. When 
Hulda was eighteen she knew nothing of the world 
except as she saw it in the church society of Hardup. 

She was a plump, fair girl in perfect health, but 
with undeveloped tastes, and crude ideas of the world 
and its ways. To an ordinary observer there was 
nothing very interesting about the girl. Her dark, 
fine glossy hair, too thick to be becomingly arranged, 
hung in a long braid to her waist. With her strong 
brown arms, she milked the cow, and gathered the 
fruit from the young orchard. Her most attractive 
features then, were her perfectly shaped brown eyes 
and a broad white forehead hidden by her drooping 
hair. The crimson on her cheeks and lips was cov¬ 
ered by a brown tint of tan painted there by Cali¬ 
fornia sunshine. At fourteen years of age, despite 
her mother's gentle protestations, she was known as 
the Tomboy of the village. She led the other girls 
far up the deep recesses of the canons, and used to 
plunge on alone far beyond where the others dared 
to go. There was no place so dear to her as the 
rocky hills, and she littered the house with rocks, 
canes, and other trophies of her rambles. She trans¬ 
planted montain vines and trees into the yard, and 
had collected specimens of every kind of rock and 
mineral found in that region. At sixteen she had 
ranked as the first scholar in the village school so 
long, that she begged to be allowed, to remain at 
home and work in the garden. Then she fell to read¬ 
ing till she had read every book in the village; a 


HULDA AND DAVID 


13 


motley collection, but which included, however, many 
historical works and standard novels. She had been 
instructed in the languages according to the various 
tastes of the teachers, who had boarded there. One 
had started her in French, one in Spanish, and one 
more practical, gave her a good start in Latin. 

Hulda well knew that her wild-wood wanderings 
and reading habits were not approved of by the 
women of the town. She was a “Tom-boy,” a “no¬ 
account, ” and a “good-for-nothing, ” because she could 
neither crochet nor make her own dresses; the knowl¬ 
edge of orchard trees and their culture not being sup¬ 
posed to be, at that time, of any actual value for a 
girl. Mrs. Hardy had no power to make Hulda 
otherwise than as she was. So Hulda wore her sim¬ 
ple calico dresses to church, read, dreamed, and 
rambled in the hills, till the town gossips ceased to 
think of her as a possible belle, bride and housekeep¬ 
er of Hardup. 

The wandering writing school teachers, peculiar 
to the country at that time, had made an excellent 
scribe of the girl to the envy of all the other ruddy 
boys and girls, and from these writing teachers she 
imbibed the idea that she might earn something for 
herself by her “rapid and smooth-flowing pen.” She 
then took a few pupils, and a strong desire to become 
a money-earner began to fill her mind. By her 
eighteenth birthday she realized that if she ever had 
more books and better clothes she would have to earn 
them herself. 

Her mother kept the money she had received from 


i4 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


the miners intact in the bank, and with stubborn 
economy had refused to draw anything but the inter¬ 
est. It had never occurred to her frugal mind that 
the education of her daughter might be of far greater 
value to her than the money; she saw in that capital 
alone a sure protection from want. The money was 
deposited in the bank at Forest Grove six miles away, 
and Hulda’s sole experience with the outside world 
lay in her trips to that place to draw the interest and 
make their frugal purchases. 

In stormy Weather when there were not likely to 
be many passengers, Bill Hicks, the stage driver, 
frequently called for her to insist on her occupying a 
seat in the empty old stage with which he made daily 
trips between#the two towns. Hulda seldom refused 
to climb in the roomy stage, that had seen better 
days, and better service in the times of Hardup’s 
prosperity. The harder it stormed and the more dan¬ 
gerous the roads were, the more keenly the girl would 
enjoy her ride, and the more Bill Hicks enjoyed the 
company of his perfectly fearless companion. It was 
on one of these trips in stormy December, that she 
met with an adventure very likely to happen to a girl 
of such simple habits and utterly unsophisticated 
training. The stage was ready to start on its even¬ 
ing trip home and Hulda was sitting in one corner 
with her feet on the mail bag, when Hicks put his 
head in the door. 

“Hulda,” he said, “I s’pose you’d a heap rather 
ride alone, but this is a pretty decent looking chap. 
Guess you won’t mind him after you ride a spell. If 


HULDA AND DAVID 


*5 


it warn’t raining so hard I’d make the old cub ride 
on the box. Yes, sir, this way, sir.” 

The stranger got in and the stage rolled out of 
town. 

The stranger was a nervous, restless man and sat 
first on one side of the stage and then on the other. 
He frequently buttoned and unbuttoned his overcoat 
and adjusted his vest. Hulda watched him with curi¬ 
osity for she had never seen any one at all like him. 
She judged he was not a minister, he was too healthy 
looking and there were too many newspapers sticking 
out of his pocket. He frequently took off his hat and 
looked into it, and then she would see an abundance 
of disordered hair. In the meantime he had taken 
an inventory of the dark-eyed country girl, and pres¬ 
ently he said: 

“Have you any objection to my smoking a cigar, 
miss ?” 

“Oh no, no, sir, not at all,”replied Hulda honestly. 
She had always spoken civilly to every one she had 
met on those trips. 

“Thank you; you are a lady,” he said with em¬ 
phasis, lighting a mild cigar. “I suppose you live 
about here.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the girl, “at Hardup.” 

“Ah, indeed. I expect to stop at that place a day 
or two. I bought a mine there last week. Ran up 
to see it. I suppose you know all about mines, ah— 
Miss—” 

“Hardy,” said Hulda, simply. 

“Ah, yes. I suppose your father owns exten¬ 
sively.” 


l6 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

“O, no, sir, my father is dead.” 

“Well, indeed.” He threw his cigar from the win¬ 
dow and leaned over the middle seat manifesting new 
interest. He noticed her plain dress. 

“Then I suppose you are a school marm, or going 
to be.” 

Hulda flushed guiltily. For the first time she was 
ashamed for not being anything in particular. She 
thought of her writing pupils. 

“No, sir, I teach writing,” she said, “but I have 
only a few pupils.” 

“Yes, yes, I see,” continued the stranger, getting 
more patronizing and fatherly, “that is a pity. If you 
are a good scribe, you could do much better than 
that in San Francisco, much better. I know girls 
there who are earning very good wages writing in 
offices.” He produced a blank card from his vest 
pocket. 

“Now just for curiosity suppose you wrote on this 
card with this pencil. If you can write well, it is 
possible I might aid you to get a situation. I like 
to see girls ambitious.” 

The stage was standing still just then for Hicks to 
deliver a parcel at a farm-house, so she took the card 
and wrote on it rapidly one of her writing school 
copies. “Live a life of truth, sobriety and honor,” 
and returned it with an air of just pride. 

“Beautiful, beautiful, Miss Hardy,” exclaimed the 
stranger. “There would be no trouble about your 
getting a position. If you wish to come to the city 
I will gladly aid you.” 


HULDA AND DAVID 


17 


“I would have to talk to mother, answered the 
girl. 

“O, yes, of course. Don’t do anything rashly. 
Here is my card, and you can write to the city and 
get references in regard to my character and business. 
You will find it all right. I am responsible for what 
I say. I might call in and see your mother, if you 
wish. O, is this where you live?" The stage stopped 
at the cottage and the man sat back in silence while 
Hicks helped Hulda out with her packages. 

Hulda burst in on her mother who was cooking 
supper in the little kitchen, in a wild state of excite¬ 
ment. 

“Mother, mother, I have had an adventure.” She 
dropped her packages on the floor while she took her 
cloak and hat from her warm figure and flushing face. 

“Well, well, shut the door and calm yourself,” ex¬ 
postulated the mild little mother, “and tell your story 
straight if you tell it at all.” 

Hulda gave her the card and they read: 

Max S. Royse, 

Land & Mining Agent, 

231 Pearl St., S. F. Up-stairs. 

“But he is a perfect stranger,” she protested when 
Hulda had explained. “We must not depend on all 
he says.” 

“But can’t we find out about him, mother,” in¬ 
sisted Hulda; “it is such a nice way to earn money.” 

“But you don’t know anything about the city, 
child. It is a dangerous place for young girls.” 

Daniel of Juniper Gulch 2 


l8 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

“But Cis Beverly is there, mother.” 

“Yes, I know—well, well, set the table, Hulda, and 
we will talk about it in the morning.” 

The next day Max S. Royse, Land & Mining Agent, 
called and made the way apparently smooth before 
them. He was a married man, he said, and Mrs. 
Royse would receive the girl in her own home for a few 
days. When she came down she could write him a 
note, and he would meet her at the wharf and take her 
to his house. Moreover his wife was a member of 
the C. St. Church and they could write to that church 
and obtain references as to himself and wife. It was 
a common thing, he said, for him to get positions for 
girls, and he only charged a modest compensation for 
his services. He was very business like and took his 
departure promptly with a manner of great respect. 

Hulda had an unsophisticated mixture of prudence 
in her nature, so she said: 

“Mother, let’s not tell anyone, and if I succeed it 
will be time to tell the neighbors.” 

“One thing,” answered her mother, “I must consult 
Brother Graceway and find out about these people 
first.” 

So she put on her bonnet and went to the Meth¬ 
odist parsonage that very afternoon. 

The minister laid down his Greek lexicon, and 
passed his hand over a brow dignified by many years 
of labor in the ministry. 

After giving the matter a moment’s study, he said 
the business might be a little irregular but he could 
write to the pastor of C, St. Church and get all the 


HULDA AND DAVID 


19 


particulars. The answer which soon came, was very 
satisfactory. Mrs. Royse was a member of the writer’s 
church. She was very active in charities and church 
work. Mr. Royse attended church occasionally. They 
lived well, and he had never heard anything deroga¬ 
tory to the character and influence of Mr. and Mrs. 
Royse. 

So Hulda and her mother sat down to fix over a 
grey dress into a traveling costume and talk about 
the new prospects; and they dwelt with pleasure on 
the fact that Hulda could now find Cis Beverly, and 
report all the news about her. 

One bright day they took a walk about two miles 
over the gravelly hills and slopes to the farm of 
Grandpa and Grandma Beverly. 

This old couple had come to California many years 
previously with a married son. While the son joined 
in the eager search for gold the old man had cleared 
a little land, planted trees and made a home. Five 
years the son and his wife had lain in the church bury- 
ing-ground at Hardup, and the old people lived in 
their little home, driving to church regularly in an old 
buggy that was weak and shaky as the old man him¬ 
self; kindly and gentle-hearted old people, loving 
their fair-haired granddaughter, Cecelia, and training 
as best they could such a restive child. Every one 
loved Cis, a fair, blue-eyed, slender girl, who used 
to run over the hills to town like a young deer, and 
who chose her associates among the married women 
of the town, learning of them to sew and crochet, 
and dress herself like a young lady of society. She 


20 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


had sweet, amiable ways and an unoffending presence, 
and those who loved and petted her had helped to 
advance her very early out of her girlhood into the 
tastes and desires of a young lady. At seventeen Cis 
went no more with Hulda on her rambles; she dis¬ 
carded her boy and girl friends, dressed her hair 
high, and wore her dresses long. According to the 
prevailing ideas Cis was a young lady of marriageable 
age, and as she was pretty and guileless it was not 
surprising that she had a lover, and one so well 
worthy of her as David Strong. David, who was 
teaming on the mountain grades, saw visions of her 
pretty face all along the brushy roads. 

He bought a new Sunday suit, quietly established 
the practice of walking home with her Sundays after 
church, and Hulda grew accustomed to seeing his 
sturdy figure on the hill back of her house every Sun¬ 
day at sunset, on his way home from the Beverly 
farm. 

As David, though plain in his attainments, was a 
man of honest ability, the older heads of the commu¬ 
nity looked upon these attentions with favor. 

But some giddy young matrons of Hardup talked 
to Cis of her being pretty enough to make a brilliant 
match, if she could only see a little of the world. 

A certain Mrs. Black came up to Hardup on a va¬ 
cation from her flourishing millinery store in San 
Francisco, and being a dear cousin of Mrs. Vander- 
lip’s, the postmaster’s wife, she was cordially received 
by the matrons of Hardup. She fell in love with Cis 
Beverly at once, and hoped she would not marry 


HULDA AND DAVID 


21 


that big fellow, who sat behind her in the church 
choir. She concluded before she went home, that 
she wanted just such a girl as Cis to learn to wait in 
her store. Cis, being fresh from the country, would 
be honest, and her yellow curls tied with blue rib¬ 
bons, would attract customers from the street. So 
she went herself to the Beverly home and persuaded 
the old people to let Cis go with her to the city for 
six months. She would take her to live with her 
behind the shop, she said, and the girl could earn 
enough to buy her some new dresses. 

So when David Strong had loitered about the next 
Sunday, waiting for Cis, he found her in the vestibule 
surrounded by girls and women who were kissing her 
good-by. Some were giving her orders for hats and 
dresses and some were begging curls for keepsakes. 
Finally seeing David waiting lonely and perplexed, 
they all withdrew, and she came out smiling and 
radiant, and walked with him over the brown Novem¬ 
ber hills. 

David’s spirits fell when she told him of her plans, 
yet he felt that he had no right to oppose her going. 
He had made no confession of his love, and in her 
present happy, independent mood he knew he would 
be rejected with scorn, if he told her then. But after 
all he reflected that six months would not be long, and 
perhaps a little work would reduce her spirits and 
make her more willing to think of him seriously as her 
intended. So he left her with only her laughing 
promise not to forget him and a promise to write to 
him. It would have been best had she gone away 


22 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


with David’s kiss on her lips, and David’s ring on 
her finger; but David’s heart had been too faint. Cis 
was but a child in mind and heart, ready to follow 
any strong persuasive leadership. And Mrs. Black, 
who was a woman of many words, speedily forgot 
her promises, when she grew tired of her new pet, 
and let her look after herself, as did the other shop 
girls. 

Cis had been away now over a year, and David 
and Hulda used to speak frequently as they stood in 
her garden, of Cis and her letters. They had re¬ 
ceived three letters each, and David’s were like 
Hulda’s, except that she addressed him as “dear 
friend,” and her as “dear Hulda.” 

At first she said that she was homesick and would 
be home in two or three months. Then she wrote 
that she was delighted with the city, that she had 
been to C. St. church and was making new friends. 
When she had been away three months she wrote 
that Mrs. Black did not need her any more, but that 
she had found a place in a candy store. They re¬ 
ceived no more letters, but they went occasionally to 
Grandma Beverly to read the letters that came reg¬ 
ularly to her. She wrote that Mrs. Black had moved 
away, and that she lived with her dear friend Sallie 
Graham, who kept house for her father on Mission 
Street. Then she began to promise that she would 
be home in a few months, but though her grandmother 
had looked for her all summer and winter, yet she 
had not come. 

“Hulda,” David had said one August evening, as 


HULDA AND DAVID 


23 


he stood mutilating her garden fence with his knife, 
“do you think I could get Cis to come home if I went 
down after her? The old folks are worrying a great 
deal.” David had learned to place a great deal of 
confidence in this plain, slow-thinking girl during the 
long summer. 

“No,” Hulda had answered, thoughtfully leaning 
over the gate in the moonlight, “if you go and insist 
on her coming she will be sure not to. She has sent 
some money to the old folks and I don’t think she 
wants to come.” 

“It isn’t the money,” David had said. Hulda' did 
not know what it was. She did not divine his great 
love for her friend. Had she been a more worldly 
girl she might have been a better confidant. Had 
they both been wiser they would have been more 
anxious. 

Soon after David went away on a prospecting tour 
to Nevada. When he returned he did not come im¬ 
mediately to the hou?e as he sometimes did. 

Hulda and her mother were talking of these things 
the day they walked over to the Beverly farm on the 
day before Hulda’s intended departure. 

“We will not tell them I am going down,” said 
Hulda. “I can’t afford to stay a day if I don’t get a 
position, and if I stay I will find Cis, and write them 
all about her.” Hulda’s head was full of plans to find 
Cis, and persuade her to return to her old home for 
a time. 

On their return from the farm, Hulda dropped be¬ 
hind her mother, for she saw, down the road, the 


24 


•AVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


figure of a man with a pick and shovel. Mrs. Hardy 
saw it too for she called back as she hurried on: 
“Ask David to supper, Hulda, he hasn’t been in for a 
long time.” 

“Why didn’t you go on with your mother?” said 
David jokingly as he came up to her. 

“Because you need scolding for staying away so 
long, and you’ve got to come to supper, mother says. 
How do you do anyway, Dave?” 

“As well as I deserve to be, I suppose. Haven’t 
had any luck, as usual. What’s the news from Cis 
Beverly?” 

“This is a pretty time to ask about Cis,” cried 
Hulda, “been away all fall.” 

“There’s just this about it, Hulda,” said David 
moodily, “if I made a rich strike she’d come home 
soon enough.” 

“Oh, hush, David! Such talk!” 

“May be you think I don’t know anything about 
her.” He walked on in silence for a few minutes. 
“Well, if it’s between you and me, I’ll tell you all 
about it.” 

“Why, of course I’ll not tell,” cried Hulda with 
girlish fervor. 

“It’s a short story and I’ll tell it short,” and David 
shifted his pick and shovel to the other shoulder. 

“Well, you know I went down there the day after 
I was talking with you. I got to the city about nine 
o’clock in the evening, and I went straight to the 
candy store, for I had the street and number you 
gave me. I found the place all right, and the first 
thing I saw was Cis standing behind the counter busy 


HULDA AND DAVID 


25 


about something. She was dressed like city girls only 
she looked pale and tired. Pretty soon she looked 
up and saw me coming in. Hulda, she turned as 
white as this apron of yours. ‘Why, Mr. Strong,’ 
says she, ‘when did you come down?’ I was sort of 
dashed at her coolness, and like a blundering fool I 
said, ‘I’ve just come down, Cis, and I want you to 
go home with me.’ Then she looked really scared. 
‘I can’t come with you, I really can’t, Mr. Strong,’ 
says she, ‘but I’ll come home this winter sure.’ 
Then I lost my head. ‘I suppose you’ll be up on 
your wedding tour with some of these city fellows,’ 
said I. ‘What’s that to you if I do,’ says she. And 
she walked straight away into the back of the store. 
Pretty soon little miss came up to me and wanted 
to sell me something. I walked out of that shop and 
came home the next day, and that’s all the good I 
done. If I’d a kept my temper like a gentleman, I 
might have got to talk to her any way. I think I’ll 
give her up. It will be a long time before I take a 
shine to any more pretty girls.” Hulda made no re¬ 
ply. She was glad David was so sensibly inclined. 

“Come in to supper, won’t you, Dave?” she said 
at the gate. “Mother wants you to, and there’s no 
school teacher here now.” 

“Well, yes, thank you,”responded the young man. 
“I’ll go over to the cabin first and wash up, and 
leave these traps.” But he did not learn of Hulda’s 
intended departure. She knew that he would oppose 
it and without reason. There would be time enough 
to explain everything to him on her first vacation 
home. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE DOVE AND THE FOX. 

It was a sunless dingy room on S—■ St., San Fran¬ 
cisco. Tattered lace curtains were tied back from a 
dusty window, that looked out against a gray wall, 
leaving only at the top a little glimpse of smoking 
chimneys. The carpet and furniture of the room 
had once been elegant, but now wore an air of van¬ 
ished respectability common to lodging houses from 
which the higher tides of opulence has ebbed away. 

On the bed lay a pretty, pale little woman with a 
restless eager look on her face, which was just child¬ 
ish enough to show weakness, yet womanly enough to 
reveal its lines of suffering. She was fully dressed, 
but her fair hair was tumbled about her shoulders. 
She rested on her elbow and was looking into the 
face of a babe, that lay sleeping beside her. Then 
she bent down and kissed the little face with an air of 
timidity, and, when a quick step came to the door, 
she threw a cover over the babe, and sat up flushing 
guiltily. 

A large, commanding looking woman entered the 
room, closed the door with a bang behind her, and 
placed a tray of food on the bare marble-topped 
table with a cold click. 


26 


THE DOVE AND THE FOX 


27 


“There, there” she said with an air of having 
authority in the case, “what are you doing now, Cis 
Beverly? Fussing over that baby again. Really you 
ought not to show such sentiment. Max hasn’t put in 
an appearance yet, and there’s no telling, may be 
he won’t come at all.” The girl sank down on the 
bed with a moan and a burst of tears. With a sigh 
and a touch of softness in her manner, the woman 
dusted the table, uncovered the tray, and poured out 
a cup of hot tea from a little brown jug. 

She was a finely-formed, well*dressed woman with 
a very fair complexion, and fine white hands. Her 
face, had it been more refined in expression, would 
have been handsome. Her poise was queenly, and 
her movements exceedingly graceful. She proceeded 
to draw the curtain, lit the gas, and then went and 
laid her hand on the girl with a manner of tolerance. 

“Now, Cis, do cheer up, and eat your supper. He 
might be here to-night, and you want to be well if 
he does come.” 

The girl sat up and smiled a little. 

“Then we are going to be married right off, you 
know, Mrs. Ellis, and go away somewhere to the 
country.” 

Mrs. Ellis laughed musically; one might not under¬ 
stand what she meant by such a laugh. 

“And do you really believe all that stuff, little 
girl?” 

“Of course I do. He loves me, and I love my 
baby.” 

Mrs. Ellis silently watched the girl sip her tea, and 


28 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


eat a little of her toast. She had more sympathy for 
her than she wished to show; and she was consider¬ 
ing if she might dare to make a few plain statements 
without having a case of hysteria on her hands. After 
a while she said: “Cis, why not give the baby to 
me? I will bring it up, and take good care of it. 
Sometime you can come and get her and tell people 
you have adopted a child. See here, Cis,” and she 
took the girl’s little drooping hand in her warm, firm 
fingers, “don’t you know that the baby will be in the 
way? How can he marry you and take you among 
his friends with a baby in your arms? Nobody would 
speak to you. Now you must choose between 
Max and the baby, and that quick too, for he will be 
here to-night. Now do be sensible for once.” 

But the blue eyes closed, the fair head drooped on 
the pillow, and the white face grew whiter. The girl 
did not faint, but she drew her hands up to her throat, 
and was helplessly silent. The woman folded the 
blankets around the little figure, which shivered 
slightly as she touched it. She replaced the dishes 
on the tray and left the room. Leaving the tray on 
the stand in the hall, she went on to her own apart¬ 
ments in the back end of the building. The hall was 
neat and bright, and a pleasant contrast to the dingy 
room she had left. A stairway at the end led to a 
hall below of similar size, but which was more hand¬ 
somely furnished and carpeted. In the lower hall 
swung a tassel, which being pulled, rang a bell above. 
Mrs. Ellis had been proprietor of these two halls with 
their forty rooms for many years. 


THE DOVE AND THE FOX 


29 


The lower hall with its more fresh and cheerful 
rooms, she allotted to her transient roomers, who 
surged in and out with the travel of the city. But 
the tide, as it ebbed and flowed, left a scum in the 
upper story of which the transient custom neither 
knew nor asked. 

Mrs. Ellis entered a little hall that led to her 
own room, stopped and called sharply: 

“Sam.” 

A door from one of the dark inner rooms opened, 
and a very neat, civil looking Chinaman appeared. 
Sam had been in her employ for several years. With 
the assistance of some other Chinaman, who was 
frequently changed, he took entire care of the rooms, 
besides being the cook and confidential servant of his 
mistress. He was always clean, wide awake, and 
ready for any service. He never betrayed a confi¬ 
dence, or ordinarily volunteered remarks. He served 
meals to his mistress in her little sitting-room with 
neatness and even elegance. He petitioned an in¬ 
crease of wages once a year, which was always 
granted. He was indispensable to the mistress of the 
house, and knew it. 

“Sam, ” said the mistress, “you may take that waiter 
down to the restaurant, and tell them not to send up 
any breakfast unless I order. And, Sam, about half 
past seven I want a nice supper for two, coffee, an 
omelet, oysters, and go out and get some roses.” 

Mrs. Ellis then went on to her own apartment. 
Her sitting-room was furnished with comfortable large 
chairs, a rich, bright carpet, and heavy rugs. A piano 


30 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

loaded with pictorial papers and music stood in a cor¬ 
ner. Heavy red curtains covered the windows, and 
a large cat slept on a rug in the warmth of a cheerful 
coal fire in the grate. In a corner a little fluffy, yel¬ 
low ball swung in a gilded cage. Mrs. Ellis brought 
from a closet a bottle of wine and a tray of dainty 
glasses. She retired to her bed-room to freshen her 
toilet, which was done by adding powder to her face 
and, draping several yards of Spanish lace about her 
neck. Returning, she stroked the cat which purred 
loudly under her soft touch. Some one tapped lightly 
on her door, and she opened it cautiously. 

“Max, is it you?” 

“Yes, Minerva, it’s me. Glad to see me, I’ll war¬ 
rant.” 

Her caller threw his hat and overcoat on to the 
piano, and rudely attempted to kiss her cheek. She 
repelled him by a push that threw him stumbling into 
a chair. 

“Now don’t be a fool, Max Royse. You haven’t 
seen me for a month, you ought to show a little re¬ 
spect. Sit down.” 

He flung himself onto the lounge, and ran his fin¬ 
gers through his dark auburn curls. 

“There now,” he said, “don’t put on your company 
airs to a good friend like me. You know you’re glad 
to see me.” 

“Yes, I have tolerated you for nearly three years 
now.” 

“Yes, and I’ve just got that drunken husband of 
yours shanghied out the harbor, and bound north 
after whales. Nice job, that.” 


THE DOVE AND THE FOX 


31 


“Well, haven’t I paid you/’ she retorted, “helped 
you out of all sorts of scrapes? In fact your miseries 
have become my chief recreation!” 

He laughed and took the glass of wine she had 
poured for him. 

“Don’t allude to my past miseries, please, fair one, 
I am a reformed man, don’t you think I am pretty 
fair, now, honestly?” 

“Yes, I suppose you are as good as the average,” 
she said, locking the door softly in answer to a knock, 
and lowering her voice. “But I think this last affair 
is a little too bad. She’s as innocent as a dove. Bad 
as I am, I can’t bear to tell her that you can’t 
marry her. 

Royse slowly raised himself from the pillow and sat 
upright, his pale blue eyes wide open. 

“Poor little girl!” he muttered. “How is she any 
way? I’d marry her in a minute if 1 could. I didn’t 
mean to harm her. I wish I’d never reformed, and 
married that golden goddess up on California Street. 
But I ’ve done well by the poor little girl. I left you 
money enough for everything, didn’t I? Besides the 
handsome sum I have to give you, for managing the 
thing. How does she feel about the child?” 

“Feel? She is perfectly unmanageable. I tried 
to persuade her to give it to me, but she almost 
fainted away.” 

“Now see here, Minerva,” with a show of indigna¬ 
tion, “I told you to go slow with her. Don’t be rude. 
I want her well treated. I intend to keep her like a 
lady as long as stocks are up.” 


32 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


She laughed her silvery laugh again this time. 

“Yes, I have no doubt of it, and I hope you will, 
Max. I believe I pity the innocent little thing.” 

He laughed derisively. “Pity her, do you? That 
must be a new disease. Have you a physician?” 

“You’re an antidote for anything good, Max,” she 
retorted, “but seriously what are you going to give me 
for adopting the baby?” 

He rose and walked around the room adjusting his 
disordered hair as he walked. He poked his finger 
at the startled canary, then rubbed his hands at the 
grate. It was only a question of how little he dared 
to offer her. He knew he could trust her to do the 
work. Finally he said reflectively. 

“Well, you know I might manage it myself, but I 
will give you a hundred. You know you have drained 
me pretty well already, and, remember, old Ellis is 
a sailor.” 

She poured out his fourth glass of wine. “I want 
two hundred, Max.” He drank the wine, and took 
a step toward her, rudely attempting to encircle her 
waist with his arm. She flung him away contempt¬ 
uously. 

“Very well, then,” he said, “have things all ready 
at twelve o’clock to-night, and I will be here with a 
hack for your patient. By the way, Minerva, peer¬ 
less one, don’t I smell oysters?” 

“Of course. Now go and see the poor girl while I 
fix the table. Wait, you may take her a cup of 
coffee.” She went into the little kitchen adjoining 
and brought a steaming cup of odorous coffee, in a 
delicate china cup on a handsome little tea-tray. 


THE DOVE AND THE FOX 33 

“That’s a darling, I knew you would treat her 
well,” he said, as he started out with the tray. 

“Here, take the key, you blundering Irishman! It’s 
room thirteen, and be back in ten minutes. 

“Ugh!” she said as she closed the door behind him. 
I wonder if that old fool thinks I have treated her to 
Haviland China and Mocha coffee every day.” 

When he returned she looked up anxiously from 
the paper she was reading. “What do you think, 
Max?” 

“It’s all right,” he said, “she’s as lively as the girl 
of the period used to be. She came to terms very 
quick. She’ll go with me and leave the child with 
you. I made her think that would be all right, and 
that she wasn’t strong enough to take care of it now.” 

She had spread a table in the center of the room, 
and the odors of coffee and oysters filled the air. He 
seated himself opposite to her at the table, placed a 
rosebud in his button-hole, and unfolded a snowy 
napkin. 

“You’re the finest woman in the world, Mrs. Ellis. 
Think of Mrs. Royse being so thoughtful of me three 
hours after dinner. O, no, she’s too emminently 
respectable for that.” But he ate hastily and rose 
from the table. 

“Now, my peerless, if you will excuse me, I have 
an engagement at nine o’clock-” 

“What, going home?” 

“No, I—I—have to meet a young lady.” 

“Save us alive, Max, another girl? O horrors!” 

“Yes, a girl, but a rather green one this time. 

David of Juniper Gulch s 


34 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Fresh from the country. She’s cut out to be smart 
though, if she did trust herself to me,” 

“Oh, Max, let me beg of you, don’t take in any more 
victims.” Max adjusted his hat, buttoned up his 
overcoat, and began to draw on his gloves. He 
looked quite gentlemanly indeed. 

“Don’t get in a fret, Minerva, keep cool. She’s 
not to be a victim. It’s a case of pure benevolence.” 

“Pshaw!” 

“Fact. She’s coming to write in lawyer Grey’s 
office. If she’s smart enough to keep out of trouble, 
and stand off all my foolishness, I’ll introduce her to 
my wife and give her a show in the world. O, I’m 
not altogether bad, Mrs. Ellis. I want to get a room 
for her down stairs. She’s coming in on the nine 
o’clock boat.” 

“Certainly, she can have a room.” 

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips in mock 
courtesy, but she gave him a push and he stumbled 
into the hall. She closed and locked the door upon 
him. 


CHAPTER III. 


A girl’s journey. 

On the morning of that day, Hulda Hardy had 
dragged her valise out into a bend in the road, and 
waited for the stage. She knew that if the stage was 
seen to stop at her house, half a dozen neighbors 
would be in before noon, to ask if Hulda had gone to 
Forest Grove, and regret that they had not known of 
it to have some errands done. 

“Going to stay a week?” said Hicks, as he put in 
her valise. 

“Yes,” said the girl cheerily, “a week or a month, 
just as you like.” 

“Well, then, if you’ll pull around about to-morrow 
night, I’ll take you to the dance.” 

“Why, Mr. Hicks, you know I can’t dance a step.” 

“I’ll risk that part of it,” he said as he shut the 
door, for it was beginning to rain, and Hulda was 
compelled to ride inside to save her dress. 

Hicks was full of kindness and officiousness for her 
at the depot at Forest Grove. He boarded the train 
with her to find her a good seat, and staid with her 
until the train began to move, but through it all, he 
asked her no questions. He supposed, probably, that 
she was going to Sacramento. 

£■35 


3 6 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


As soon as Hulda looked about in the car, the first 
pangs of loneliness and timidity came. The people 
about her were unlike the people of Hardup in dress 
and appearance. 

She was on an overland train, and the passengers 
were merchants, tourists, drummers, fashionably 
dressed women, and tired, spoiled children. They 
took no notice whatever of her, which was, in itself, 
a novel circumstance to the girl. 

At a Sacramento station she waited alone, ate a 
lunch she had brought with her, and took adventurous 
little trips out to look at the broad yellow river, the 
steamers, scows and flat boats, and the weather¬ 
beaten town across the water. 

Her loneliness increased, and when the people be¬ 
gan to arrive for the train she expected to take, she 
watched them eagerly, hoping to see some one she 
had met at Hardup. Many of the Hardup people 
had moved to Sacramento. 

A pleasant-faced woman, with pretty gray curls 
peeping out from her bonnet, and around her neck 
and forehead, came and sat down by her, dropping 
her hand-bag with a sigh of relief. 

“If I only dared to speak to her,” thought the girl, 
“she seems so nice.” 

But the woman presently went and bought her 
ticket, and when she came back she smiled upon 
Hulda. 

“Are you going on this train, young lady?” 

“I am,” replied the girl with a flush of color. 

“Then will you help me carry my hand-bag? I am 
not used to carrying it and you look strong.” 


A girl’s journey 


37 


“Indeed, I would be very glad to carry it, and go 
with you,” cried the delighted girl. “I have never 
traveled before, and I am lonely.” 

“Indeed! tell me where you are from.” 

The woman threw off her outer wrap and veil as 
she sat down. She had a pretty, trim form, was 
richly dressed, and her face, with smiling blue eyes, 
was so young and sweet looking, that Hulda saw at 
once that her hair must be prematurely gray. 

Before the train had reached Vallejo, where they 
were to take a steamer to San Francisco, these two 
travelers had become quite well informed as to each 
other’s identity. 

Hulda learned that her companion lived in Sacra¬ 
mento, owned houses there, and made frequent trips 
to San Francisco where she owned more houses; that 
she had come to the state at some indefinite time, she 
referred to, as the early days. 

“And my gray hairs,” said she, pointing to her curls, 
“came to me then, from my grief and anxiety over 
the loss of my first husband and child. And now I am 
a widow again, but not widowed as I was then, for I 
was all alone in the world. ” 

When they went into the steamer she took the 
country girl about the boat and told her many things 
about it; then she took her into the ladies’ cabin be¬ 
low, and sat down to talk quietly with her, as she 
had observed that the country girl was as ignorant, 
as she was interesting and inexperienced. 

She deftly drew from her, her entire history, and 
the object and circumstances of the trip. She knew 


38 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


that it was not quite proper for the girl to go into 
the charge of a strange man, in a strange city, and 
told her so. 

But Hulda was quite sure that everything was all 
right. However, the elder woman gently persisted 
in giving her considerable good advice. 

“Leave your baggage on the wharf, by all means, 
Miss Hardy,” she said in counclusion, “and if this 
man does not get you the place he promises, go di¬ 
rectly home. It is very hard for a girl to get employ¬ 
ment in San Francisco.” 

As the boat neared the city the two women went 
up-stairs. The wind staggered them as they came 
on deck, but the girl cried out with an exclamation 
of surprise and delight; the scene before them was 
delighting many who had been familiar with it for 
years. Line upon line, row upon row of twinkling 
lights set in darkness. A row of many colored lights 
marked the wharf which they were fast approaching, 
and avenues of light ran in all directions till they 
seemed to mingle with the stars. While the boat 
was landing, Hulda’s heart beat rapidly, and a feel¬ 
ing of fear came over her, when she saw the travel¬ 
ers hurrying off with their valises and bundles. She 
then began to realize the value of her new friend, 
and did not want to part from her. She clung nerv¬ 
ously to her arm, as they were pressed onto the 
wharf with the crowd. 

“Ah,” said a modulated voice, “here you are! I 
was afraid you wouldn’t come. But you have a 
friend with you.” 


A girl’s journey 


39 


Max Royse, Land and Mining Agent, clothed in 
the attire of a gentleman, bowed deferentially to the 
elder woman and held out his hand to the girl. Hul- 
da’s companion seemed to be favorably impressed 
with his appearance. She pressed the girl’s hand 
reassuringly and turned to her own friends, who were 
crowding about her. But after she had entered a 
car with her friends and started away, she wished 
that she had insisted on taking the girl and keeping 
her with her for one night. She regretted her thought¬ 
lessness, all the way to the house of her friends, and 
woke up several times in the night, to think restlessly 
about the girl. 

Max Royse drew the girl’s arm quickly within his, 
and led her through the crowd to a hack, and took 
her hand to assist her into it. But Hulda drew back. 

“I would rather not go in a carriage,” she said, 
“it is too expensive for me. Could we not go in a 
street car?” 

“This is all right,” insisted Royse, “get in. This 
is my carriage.” 

She entered hesitatingly. Royse followed, and the 
carriage started. 

“Poor girl, you look tired,” he said, sitting down 
beside her and looking impertinently into her face. 

Hulda at once moved into her corner, a little dis¬ 
turbed by such paternal manners. 

“No, thank you, I am not at all tired,” she replied 
quickly. 

He then explained to her that his wife was un¬ 
avoidably away from home that night, and he had 


4 o 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


arranged for a room for her at the lodging-house of a 
friend. 

“She is very much of a lady,” he continued, “and 
I think you will like to stay there. When you get 
acquainted you can go any where you like. Will 
you be afraid to stay alone?” 

“O, no,” returned Hulda, “but I am sorry your 
wife is away.” 

Here he removed his new beaver hat, rubbed its 
shining surface carefully, and replaced it. 

Hulda was absorbed in the glimpses of the street 
lights from the carriage window, and her shawl had 
fallen from her shoulders. 

“Pardon me.” Her companion reached about her 
and replaced her shawl. The girl faced him with a 
startled look in her eyes. 

“Oh,” he said, civilly, drawing back, “I did not 
mean to offend you.” She flushed scarlet. 

“I am not used to receiving such attentions from 
gentlemen.” 

“Pardon me, then, but I feared you would be cold.” 

Hulda turned to the window with a feeling of an¬ 
noyance and strange fear. 

“But I must not be foolish,” she thought, “the 
ways of the city men will be new to me, and I must 
pretend not to notice.” 

Her bewilderment increased when the carriage 
stopped, and she stepped out under a row of gas 
lights, and the noise of a theater orchestra rolled 
from the grates under her feet. Did his friend live 
there? 


A GIRL*S JOURNEY 


41 


But she was hurried up a narrow stairway in the 
bright and pretty lower hall of Mrs. Ellis’ lodging 
establishment. 

Royse pulled the tassel, and Hulda looked about 
her, collecting her thoughts. Presently Mrs. Ellis 
appeared above bending over the railing. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it? Pll be down in a minute. 
Sam, Sam, the keys.” 

Soon she came trailing down the stairs, her keys 
rattling in her white fingers, and her scrutinizing eyes 
on Hulda. 

“Your friend came then, Mr. Royse,” she said, “I 
am glad to see her. This way please.” 

They followed her through a little hall into a large, 
and in the eyes of the country girl, handsomely fur¬ 
nished room. 

Mrs. Ellis turned up the gas, which was already lit. 

“This is Miss Hardy,” said Royse, “I will leave 
her in your charge to-night.” 

“Very well,” said Mrs. Ellis, taking a complete in¬ 
ventory of the girl in one glance. “Miss Hardy, 
here is your key, and if you need anything, come up 
to my room.” 

Then she went out swiftly, closing the door after 
her. Max sat down on the lounge. 

“Well, take off your things, little girl, and rest 
yourself.” 

Now Hulda was not little, and she knew it, but 
she tried to conceal her annoyance, as she removed 
her hat and shawl. She twisted up her hair, which 
had escaped from its usual confinement, and remained 


42 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


standing. She wondered why he did not give her 
her directions and go, and why he sat there looking 
so stupid. So she said: 

“What am I to do to-morrow, and where is the 
office where I am to work?” 

“That’s all right, dear, J’ll tell you all about that 
to-morrow,” he said. “Come and sit down here and 
rest.” He reached out and took hold of her dress. 
But she pulled herself away, and sat down in a chair, 
her heart beginning to beat strangely. He was 
changing every moment, and she watched him with 
amazement. 

“Well I guess I’d better go.” He rose and took 
several turns about the room; suddenly he seized a 
chair and sat down beside her. 

“Now don’t look so frightened, ” he said soothingly, 
“I’m not going to hurt you. Do you think I would 
harm you, child?” 

“No, of course not,” she said, trying to keep her 
composure, and brushing his hand from her arm, 
“but I do not quite understand your manners.” 

“Pardon me, Miss Hardy,” he said gently, and 
moving a little away, “I do not mean offense. You 
know I take a great interest in you—a fatherly in¬ 
terest.” 

“I know,” said the girl growing bolder, “but I had 
much rather be alone; I am tired.” 

“Oh, poor girl,” he leaned forward and took hold 
of her arm. 

Hulda sprang away towards the door, thoroughly 
alarmed now. Was he drunk or insane? How could 


A GIRL’S JOURNEY 


43 


she get away without making a scene? Royse sat 
back in his chair and laughed. 

“Why, girl, you’d make a fine actress. I believe 
I’ll change your trade and put you on the stage. 
What makes you so excitable, any way? Come and 
sit down.” 

But Hulda stood by the door trembling. 

“But your actions are so strange,” she ventured to 
say. 

“O, pshaw! Sit down and be reasonable. I will 
let you alone. I didn’t know I was annoying you.” 

She sat down a little reassured. Was not the man 
recommended to her by a minister? It could not be 
possible that he meant harm. “He is amusing him¬ 
self,” she thought, “I will be calm.” He reached for 
his hat and began to smooth it down. 

“And are you going to see my wife to-morrow?” 

“I expect to, Mr. Royse.” 

“Well, then, if you will forgive me for my rude con¬ 
duct, I will go.” 

She smiled. He suddenly rose, came and bent 
over her with his arm around her. 

“Well, then, kiss me good-night.” 

The thoroughly frightened girl sprang away with a 
scream, and ran to the door. She was sure then 
that the man was drunk. 

“Don’t go out,” he cried, “I won’t touch you.” 

She stood facing him, her hand on the door knob, 
while he sat down on the lounge and looked at her 
with half closed eyes. She remembered the advice 
of the kind lady on the boat, and her mind began to 


44 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


fill with undefined terrors. He had lost all resem¬ 
blance to the man she had supposed him to be; and 
yet in her innocence she had not enough fear to lose 
her composure. She thought of the woman’s advice, 
“Go home if you see anything wrong,” but she thought 
she had best speak, as if she saw nothing wrong. 

“You had better go now, Mr. Royse, and if you 
come in the morning and take me to the office you 
spoke of, that is all I expect of you.” 

He threw himself back on the lounge with a sneer. 

“Indeed, do you think I am going to get work for 
a young lady that has insulted me ?” 

“O, sir, I have not.” 

He laughed. 

“I expect some return for my kindness.” 

“What?” she cried, wonderingly. 

“Well, be a little friendly and affectionate, you 
know. Kiss a fellow once in a while.” 

“If that is the case,” she said struggling against 
her fears and her anger, “I do not need your services, 
for I shall never do anything of the kind.” 

He sprang up, angry then. He knew he had not 
meant all his conduct implied. He had thought to 
do right by the girl, but he had had a good deal of 
wine that evening. 

“Very well,” he stammered, “if you order me out, 
I shall have to go. If you want me, let me know.” 

He walked out the door that she opened for him^ 
and she quickly shut and locked it after him; but he 
stood there a few minutes and then tapped lightly. 
She opened the door a little, holding it firmly. 


A girl’s journey 


45 


“I am sorry I was so rude,” he said softly. “Please 
forgive me. Don’t be angry; you’ll get used to me 
after a while.” 

“I don’t think so,” she answered, in a trembling 
voice. 

“Never mind, I’ll call for you at ten o’clock to¬ 
morrow. Will you be ready?” 

With a faint “Yes” she closed the door quickly and 
locked it. He tapped hesitatingly several times, but 
receiving no reply he stood in the hall a few moments, 
and then ran up-stairs to the apartments of Mrs. Ellis, 
bolting in without knocking. Mrs. Ellis was lying on 
the lounge, but she rose immediately to give him her 
place. 

“I am cross and tired,” he ejaculated, making him¬ 
self comfortable at full length. Mrs. Ellis tossed her 
head with a scornful smile. 

“I have no doubt of it. How is your bird now?” 

“O, she’s caged. She’s a wild one, though.” 

“I should think so to look at her. You’ll get 
caught yourself one of these days, old man. For 
goodness sake, don’t meddle with that girl, or take 
her to Lawyer Grey. He’s a bigger rascal than you 
are.” Max sat up and rubbed his hands through his 
hair. 

“Minerva, you’re getting too good. What church 
do you belong to?” 

“I am only getting wiser,” she said, stirring the 
fire into a warm blaze. 

“Well, to tell you the truth, Minerva,” he said set¬ 
tling himself again, “you’re of! the track entirely. I 


4 6 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


mean no harm to the girl. I am going to do well by 
her. I am going to switch off from Grey, and take 
her up to my wife. She’ll be all right there, and 
no more trouble to me. I’m tired of her. She can 
help my wife run the Orphan Asylum.” 

“How about business, Max? Did you bring that 
money with you ?” 

“Oh, I forgot it. Never mind, I’ll bring it around 
in a few days.” She laughed sarcastically. His few 
days meant that it would require considerable nag¬ 
ging to get it. About its ultimate delivery, however, 
there was no question. She had the power to make 
it come. 

“I’ll wait a few months, Max, and then I’ll call on 
your wife.” 

“All right, Minerva, let me rest a few minutes, I’m 
tired.” 

A few minutes before twelve, Mrs. Ellis went into 
Cis Beverly’s room. The little trunk was ready, and 
the girl was bending over the sleeping infant in the 
bed. She looked up at Mrs. Ellis, seemingly quite 
contented with her plans. 

“She hasn’t enough clothes, Mrs. Ellis, but I will 
make more, and bring them as soon as I am able. 
These are just what I made of my own old clothes. 
They are not very nice.” She rolled a little bundle 
together and laid it in a large basket Mrs. Ellis had 
provided. Presently Mrs. Ellis went out of the room, 
and she and Max were whispering together outside in 
the hall. 

Cis lifted up the child, and kissed it tenderly. She 


A girl’s journey 


47 


laid it down and looked at it sorrowfully, then, smiling 
softly, she took an old letter from her pocket, tore 
the letter into bits, and taking her pencil, wrote on 
the back of the envelope. She then slipped the 
envelope under the baby’s dress, wrapped the child 
warmly, and arranged it comfortably in the basket 
on a pillow. 

“Won’t Mrs. Ellis smile when she sees that?” she 
whispered, as she carefully drew a veil over the in¬ 
fant’s face. 

Then in a few minutes it was all over. Mrs. Ellis 
came in, took the milk bottles, and a little alcohol 
stove in one hand, and the basket in the other. She 
leaned over and kissed the girl’s white forehead with 
a kind, womanly manner, of which she was quite 
capable. 

“Don’t make a scene! Be brave now,” she whis¬ 
pered, and glided off noiselessly to her rooms with 
her burdens. 

A man came and took the trunk, and poor, confid¬ 
ing Cis Beverly went downstairs, still trusting the 
wretch who had led her to ruin; she was looking for¬ 
ward to a speedy righting of her wrongs, and the 
prospect of returning to Hardup, the bride of a 
wealthy man, whose bounty would rescue her grand¬ 
parents from toil and poverty. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A JOKE TAKEN PRACTICALLY. 

Mrs. Ellis placed the basket and contents before 
the fire in her room and sat down to think. She did 
not exactly relish the work before her, but she liked 
the money it would bring. Presently she rose, went 
into the hall, and called softly: 

“Sam, Sam, get up, I want to see you.” She 
came back and sat down in a comfortable chair, 
loosened her tight clothes, and unwound her heavy 
coil of hair. 

Sam glided in, apparently not the least disturbed 
by being called at midnight. 

“Sam, look at that young one.” Sam looked at 
the basket and shrugged his shoulders significantly. 

“Do you want to earn ten dollars, Sam?” Sam 
arched his brow slightly. 

“What do?” 

“Just carry that basket up town before daylight, 
and leave it where I tell you. Do you know where 
that Infant Shelter is on Howell Street, Sam?” 

“Yes, I sabe.” 

“Well, leave it on the steps, and don’t let any one 
see you.” 

“What for you give him away?” 

“Give it away, Sam? I want to get rid of it, you 
48 


A JOKE TAKEN PRACTICALLY 


49 


stupid. You be ready now, and take it up, and I 
will give you twenty dollars. ” 

Sam came a step nearer. 

“You not give him away. Him girl baby, you sell 

him. ,, 

“What do you mean, Sam?” 

“I go get Chinaman buy him. Give you twenty, 
me twenty. You say all right.” Mrs. Ellis was 
surprised. 

“What, you eat him, Sam?” 

“No, raise him in Chinatown. Make him slave. 
Sell him six hundred dollars.” Mrs. Ellis was not 
an entirely wicked woman. She held up her hands 
in horror. 

“Sam, you’re a wicked boy! Go away. I’ll have 
nothing to do with you.” Sam hung his head and 
turned away. 

“You do as I tell you, Sam,” she said sharply. 
“You’ll get your twenty dollars anyway. You can’t 
fool me, either, I’ll find it out if you do. Sam hesi¬ 
tated. 

“Baby cry?” 

“No Sam, I’ve put sleeping medicine in its milk, 
lots of it.” 

“All light, you keep him one day. I go to-morrow 
night.” Sam had taken in the situation, and in true 
Chinese style, had decided to strike for better terms, 
or force her, by delay, to accept his proposition. 

“O, no, Sam,” she pleaded, “you go to-night.” 

“Too muchee cold. I go to-morrow night.” And 
Sam slowly backed out of the room. 

David of Juniper Gulch 4 


50 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Mrs. Ellis was vexed, but she knew Sam thought 
too much of twenty dollars to fail to earn it; so she 
kept her composure and wisely concluded to make 
the best of her circumstances. But she was annoyed 
with the thought of keeping the child in her room all 
day. Some one might call and discover it, and she 
laid down so disturbed by her reflections, that she 
slept lightly and but little. 

About three in the morning a brilliant idea occurred 
to her; and she arose and lit the gas, laughing softly 
to herself as she moved about the rooms. 

She had been annoyed with Max because he had 
not brought her the money, and it occurred to her 
that she might punish him, and, at the same time, 
rid herself of the child during the following day. 

She would petrify the country girl with astonish¬ 
ment, give Max a chance to do some tall lying and 
acting, and worry them both, till the next evening, 
when she could come in as a benevolent and kind- 
hearted observer, and take the child. There was no 
risk to take, and she knew that Max could think of a 
lie as quick as she could, and she would have a good 
joke on him. 

So she took the child up, fed it with more of the 
prepared milk; arranged it neatly in the basket, and 
covered it with the shawl Cis had left with it; she 
then slipped quietly down stairs. 

Meanwhile poor Hulda had passed a miserable 
night. When Royse had finally left her, she stood 
with a palpitating heart, agonizing and unwelcome 
convictions rushing into her mind. 


A JOKE TAKEN PRACTICALLY 


51 


“Oh mother, mother,” she cried, bursting into 
tears, and sinking down on her knees by the lounge. 
“Why did I ever leave you? What made me dare to 
come away from my pretty home?” The girl had no 
conception of the real character of Max Royse, but 
she had never seen any man act as he had acted, and 
she knew that in some way she was disappointed^ 
and had been deceived. She had noticed his wine- 
tainted breath, and that alone, to her simple mind, 
was sufficient to decide her. She wanted nothing 
to do with a man who drank wine. Her tears re¬ 
lieved her, and when she had stopped crying, she 
began to think to some purpose. How her heart 
ached, and how lonely and frightened she was in that 
great city alone! She thought of her mother sleep¬ 
ing quietly in the snug little cottage home, the old 
clock ticking away the tranquil hours. She took 
from her bosom her father’s old-fashioned silver watch. 
It was eleven o’clock. She could hear steps occa¬ 
sionally passing her door. Home seemed to her, 
just then, the best and dearest place in the world. 
She resolved to leave the house early in the morning, 
inquire her way back to the boat, and return to 
Hardup. She was too nervous to undress herself, 
and she did not know how to put out the gas. So, 
with the light still burning, she lay down and 
tried to rest. A quick step sounding in the hall 
startled her, and she sprang into the middle of the 
room. But she lay down again, and fell into uneasy 
slumber. She dreamed that the boat was sinking, 
and that Cis Beverly was struggling in the water. 


52 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


David Strong and her mother floated in a boat, and 
Cis was clasping her cold white fingers about the 
dreamer’s neck. Then she awoke trembling with 
the name of her loved schoolmate on her lips. She 
began to think of Cis Beverly. She ought certainly 
to make some effort to see her. But it would be 
very hard to try to find her alone, without any knowl¬ 
edge of "the city. How could she do it? Would she 
dare to try? She lay thinking it all over again and 
again. Dropping to sleep she was awakened by a 
tapping on her door. She sprang to the door and 
nervously held the key. A woman’s voice spoke 
softly. 

“Miss Hardy, are you awake? I have a package 
for you. I was directed to deliver it immediately.” 

Recognizing the voice as that of the landlady, 
Hulda unlocked the door and opened it slightly. Mrs. 
Ellis pushed herself in quickly, and placed the basket 
on the floor, while the girl looked at it and her with 
astonishment. 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Ellis, “a messenger boy 
brought it, and wanted it delivered immediately. I 
said I would see to it, and he went away.” 

“There is no one to send me anything,” persisted 
Hulda. 

“Perhaps your friend, Mr. Royse, has sent you 
some new clothes,” answered Mrs. Ellis, retreating 
to the door, “it was for you, any way.” She quickly 
shut the door and was soon in her own bed shaking 
with laughter. Hulda first locked the door carefully, 


A JOKE TAKEN PRACTICALLY 


53 


then she turned and knelt by the basket, with burn¬ 
ing cheeks. Would that man have the impudence 
to send her clothes? 

She removed a newspaper that was neatly tucked 
over the basket. Then she droppped it and clasped 
her hands in dumb surprise. The shawl covering the 
basket was as familiar to her, as her own dress. It 
was an old shawl Cis Beverly used to wear to school; 
and Hulda had many times worn it about her own 
shoulders. 

She carefully pulled it off, and the babe, still sleep¬ 
ing, threw up one little arm into her face. The rec¬ 
ognition of the shawl was a revelation, and she knew 
at once that the child before her had some connec¬ 
tion with her old schoolmate. Her curiosity was 
equal to her surprise, and she proceeded to examine 
the contents of the basket. The child’s dress was of 
old, faded lawn, exactly like a dress Cis used to 
wear. The long white skirt, made of thin muslin, 
was trimmed with lace Hulda hersef had given to 
Cecelia Beverly. Full of curiosity to know more, 
she lifted the babe and laid it on the bed. A paper 
fluttered to the floor. Hulda snatched it. It was 
an envelope she herself had directed to Cis, and on it 
was written in her friend’s own handwriing, “Take 
good care of my baby. I have named her Nonie. I 
will come and claim her just as soon as I can.” 

Hulda sat on the bed and read the writing over 
and over, thinking out her conclusion. Cis was in 
some kind of trouble, evidently, and was asking her 
for assistance. In all probability she had been de- 


54 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


serted by her husband. She again looked through the 
basket, and found the roll of clothes, and the nurs¬ 
ing bottle, full of milk. Then she concluded that in 
some way Cis had learned of her arrival, and had 
taken this way of compelling her to serve and help 
her. Hulda looked about the room, and seeing the 
grate filled with kindling wood and coal, she started 
a fire and placed the bottle near it to keep warm. 
She stood a long time trying to think what to do. 
To her wearied and distressed mind, there was only 
one thing to do, to go to her own home. Cis, evi¬ 
dently, was hiding from her, and how could she find 
her, any way, with that baby on her hands? At six 
clock in the morning, Hulda opened her door and 
looked out into the hall. There was no one in sight. 
She ventured to the head of the stairs, and looked 
down into the street. She saw a boy coming up with 
a load of morning papers on his arm. She was glad. 
She was not afraid of a boy. 

“Will you tell me the best way, please,” she said, 
“to get to the Vallejo boat.” 

“Take any car passing the door,” he answered, as 
he rushed by. Hulda fled back to her room much 
relieved. She wanted to get away without seeing 
the landlady. She did not want to have to tell any¬ 
thing about the mysterious child and her friend. She 
instinctively felt that there was some kind of a secret 
that must be preserved. 

At sundown when the train stopped at Forest 
Grove, Hicks was waiting with his stage. When he 
saw Hulda getting off a car, burdened with a basket, 
he was at her side in a moment. 


A JOKE TAKEN PRACTICALLY 


55 


“Here you are, bag and baggage. I knew you’d 
be back to the dance,” he said, teasingly, and trying 
to take the basket. 

“No, no, don’t touch it,” she cried. “Here is the 
check for my valise. Get it quick, I want it,” and 
while he was gone, she climbed into the stage. The 
child began to fret, and cry, and she had it in her 
arms, when he returned. 

“Holy Jehosephat! What have you got there?” 
he cried. 

“Hush! Hicks, don’t you know a baby when you 
see it?” 

“By Gum! Hain’t yours, I hope.” 

“It’s my cousin’s. She died in the city,” stam¬ 
mered the heroic, suffering girl, who had had all day 
to think what to say. 

“And you brought it all the way alone? My! 
Ain’t you a brick? But Lord! you look tired. 
You’re dead worn out.” 

“Never mind, Hicks, take me home.” 

“Not by a long shot, till you have something to 
eat.” 

He slammed the door and drove directly to one of 
the hotels, and, paying no attention to her protesta¬ 
tions, he rushed her into the parlor. She heard him 
telling the landlady that she was a brave girl from 
Hardup, who had brought her cousin’s baby all the 
w^y from the city alone. The motherly landlady 
bustled in full of questions and kindness, and warmed, 
comforted and fed the baby, while Hulda went to the 
table and ate for the first time that day. She took 


56 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


her last fifty cents from her purse to pay for her sup¬ 
per. But Hicks had already paid for it, and was 
warming robes to wrap her in, or the wind was blow¬ 
ing sharp and keen from the east. Hulda laughed 
when she heard him stowing five Chinamen on top 
of the stage. 

Her heart began to leave her, as the stage rolled 
along through the gathering darkness towards her 
home. What would her mother say, when she had 
gone away to support herself, to come back with a 
burden. It was a strange thing to do. 

She wondered then at all her nervousness and fear 
of the city, and began to think that she ought to have 
staid longer, to try to find out something about the 
baby. Then she shuddered to think of again being 
in the presence or power of the man who intended 
to call for her at ten o’clock. 

Hicks helped her out of the stage, and his prais¬ 
ing was stimulating, and his commendation gave her 
encouragement. He put her valise inside the gate; 
she took the basket, and stumbled through the dark¬ 
ness alone. It was cold, and there was no time for 
hesitation, so she opened the back door and called 
out in a loud, cheerful voice, “Mother, mother, I 
have come home. Ar’n’t you glad?” 

The mother was sitting in the warm little sitting- 
room sewing, and she only had time to lay aside her 
glasses and drop her work, when Hulda sank at her 
feet, and began to sob out her whole miserable story. 


CHAPTER V. 


HARDUP LIFE. 

Far into the night, and again in the morning the 
two women talked, and Hulda passed from girlhood 
to womanhood in these long and serious consulta¬ 
tions. Mrs. Hardy had considered the matter over 
and over, while Hulda slept the sleep of wearied 
youth, till late in the morning. 

Hulda had recklessly told the stage driver that it 
was her cousin’s child, and they were already pub¬ 
licly committed to keep the baby, until Cis came for 
it, or until they could get rid of it, in some plausible 
way. Besides, everyone in town already knew that 
Hulda had gone to the city, and it seemed to the 
mother that the appearance of the child was a good 
way to account for the trip, doing away with any 
necessity of explaining Hulda's foolish journey, and 
the grievous disappointment. She reproached herself 
bitterly for ever having allowed her daughter to take 
the trip; she was devoutly thankful to have her back 
safe and sound. And, the more she thought of it, 
the more she was glad that the baby had come in, 
to be used as a public excuse for that trip. 

Thinking of the baby, as having been providentially 
supplied as an excuse, her heart warmed to the poor 
little waif. She thought it hardly probable that the 
57 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


58 

babe had a legal father, and she presented this truth 
to her pure daughter’s mind, as gently as possible. 

“Well, then, that is another reason we should 
claim it as our cousin’s,” said Hulda. “If we should 
tell the real story, it would break poor Grandma 
Beverly’s heart. The old folks would die of grief.” 

“No, daughter, we ought never to tell the real 
story,” said the mother, sadly and without reflection. 

“Besides,” continued Hulda, “here is the note, 
where she says she will come for it herself. She 
must expect to come out of her trouble all right, or 
she would never say that.” 

“If we are helping her to save herself, we ought 
certainly to keep the secret and the baby,” said Mrs. 
Hardy. 

“What will we say the baby’s name is, mother? 
Nonie? Nonie what?” Mrs. Hardy considered 
thoughtfully. 

“I did have a cousin die in the states. Her name 
was Graham.” 

“That will do,” said Hulda. “Nonie Graham. 
And now you tend to Cousin Nonie Graham, while I 
wash the dishes.” 

When Mrs. Hardy undressed the baby, she found 
around its neck a little thin gold chain. Hulda took 
it eagerly. 

“The very chain,” she exclaimed, “that Cis wore 
to school for years!” 

They took the note, the chain, the shawl and the 
clothes that people might recognize, and locked them 
away securely. Happily a snow-storm came up that 


HARDUP LIFE 


59 


morning, followed by rain, so that the mother and 
daughter had time to make more clothes, and thor¬ 
oughly rehearse their parts before the inquisitive 
neighbors had a chance to come in. And the little 
stranger in the rocking chair by the stove, seemed 
to thoroughly appreciate its good fortune, and made 
very little trouble. 

Meanwhile Hulda’s mind, hitherto rendered un¬ 
naturally dormant by her uneventful life, had been 
roused into activity by her strange adventure. She 
began to think with some vigor and purpose. She 
had learned the value of home and friends, and the 
foolishness of putting her trust in strangers. And 
what child of fortune or misfortune does not have to 
learn this sooner or later? She had learned the value 
of her mother, too, and after that long morning’s 
talk, Hulda took the leading hand in the housework, 
and regulated everything to her own orderly habits. 
With her vigorous methods and quick motions, the 
work seemed to disappear by magic, and the little 
household fell into systematic quiet and order. Mrs. 
Hardy brought up an old plan she had had in her 
mind, of trying to persuade her daughter to become 
a teacher, and Hulda at once accepted the idea, so 
anxious was she to atone for her unfortunate trip to 
the city, to forget its memories, and redeem herself 
in her own eyes. 

Before the storm cleared away Hulda’s school 
books displaced her Latin books on the sitting-room 
table, and she began to study in earnest. She had 
made up her mind to attend the Teachers’ Exami- 


6o 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


nation at Forest Grove in March, and she had no time 
to spare. 

When the storm cleared a way, Hulda made her 
way through the mud to the postoffice, hoping to 
get some word from Cis, but there was nothing there, 
and the two women began to seriously accept the 
fear that something had gone wrong with the girl. 

During all this, they had seen nothing of David, 
and Hulda was glad. They dreaded to see him, 
when they had such a secret on their minds, and they 
hoped he would be so sensible as to stay away awhile, 
when he heard they had a young baby in the house. 

But one evening Hulda heard a great shuffling and 
scraping on the back porch and a good-natured laugh 
in the kitchen, and she knew David was there speak¬ 
ing with her mother. She moved the rocking chair, 
with its little sleeping burden, into the corner, and 
her face was bent over her slate when he came in. 
But she rose and gave him her hand with a simple 
welcome. 

“Well, how’s the family, especially the new part 
of it?” he said, getting down into a chair and trying 
to pack his feet away into a small space. 

“Oh, all right,” said Huida, gravely looking at her 
mother to gain courage. 

“What’s the matter here? you look kinder sober,” 
he continued in his usual jocular manner. 

“We can’t be funny all the time, as you are,” said 
the mother pleasantly. 

“By the way, Hulda,” he said, “you’re a funny 
girl to fly off to the city alone without letting me 
know.” 



'• How is the family, especially the new part of it?” 




David of Juniper Gulch 















































* 




























HARDUP LIFE 


61 


“No more than you did, Dave,” she retorted 
quickly, but he pretended not to hear. 

“Didn’t see any one I know down there, I sup¬ 
pose,” he said, after some moments, as he carefully 
polished his knife blade on the sole of his boot. 
Hulda's head bent lower over her slate, and Mrs. 
Hardy answered for her. 

“How could she see anyone? She had no time.” 

“Then you didn’t know she’d been sick!” As if 
they must know of whom he was thinking. 

“Well, I was over to see the old folks yesterday. 
They’ve had a letter from Cis. She says she’s been 
sick, but after awhile, she’s coming home on a visit. 
It’s the same old story, though. I don’t believe she 
will.” Both the women were silent, with bent heads, 
and when David had finished polishing his knife, and 
put it away, he sat upright with his hands in his 
pockets, and began to tell them of the various little 
matters of gossip about town. 

“You ought to see the new teacher, Hulda. He’s 
a regular old maid. He’d just suit you. He s down 
there at the hotel fussing like an old hen because it’s 
noisy at night, and noisy in the morning, and I don’t 
know what all. Better take him in here, Hulda.” 

Hulda looked up with an eager expression at her 
mother. They had not been having the teacher for 
some years. 

“Yes, mother, do. I’ll do the cooking,” said the 
girl, thinking of the profit. David laughed heartily 
and seemed to regard it as a good joke. 

“Yes, David, she really can cook very well,” said 


62 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Mrs, Hardy. “And if Hulda insists upon studying 
for a teacher, I will take him; he might offer to give 
her some help.” David rose to go. 

“All right, I’ll send him up in the morning. Hold, 
a minute, providing, Hulda, you’ll promise to go to 
the social Tuesday night with me. I’ll allow no 
cranky school-teacher to get ahead of me.” 

“You must go,” said the mother gently. 

“O, dear, if I have to! How I do hate socials!” 
complained Hulda, following David to the front door. 

“All right, I’ll be around to help you through the 
misery. Good-night, then.” And David strode 
away, whistling cheerily. 

The next day after school hours the teacher came, 
and was immediately taken to the front, up-stairs 
chamber, that Hulda had spent the day cleaning and 
arranging. The furniture was mostly composed of 
dry goods boxes, curtained in spotless white, and 
adorned with crimson ribbons; but there was a good, 
wide table, covered with white, for a desk, a comfort¬ 
able rocker, a clean, fresh rag-carpet, prints on the 
walls, and blooming plants by the window; and 
Joseph Gornman, washing his chalky hands in the 
white bowl, thought it was delightfully charming and 
homelike. He was grateful to escape from his dark, 
untidy room at the stage station, and he went down 
to the savory dinner, odorous from below, with his 
most complacent smile. 

Mr. Cornman was a large, thin man; he wore a 
coat too large, and too thin for that season of the 
year. His cold, blue eyes were well set in his head, 


HARDUP LIFE 


63 


and his smile was the well trained expression of 
naturally awkward features. But his look was keenly 
intelligent, and his movements were graceful and 
methodical. 

Having practiced the profession of teaching for 
twenty years, he had found policy and economy to be 
his most useful principles and he practiced them both 
faithfully. The former, so well that he was generally 
considered to be a successful teacher, the latter, so 
well, that he had saved enough to have a very credit¬ 
able bank account. He could spell anything in the 
English language, and professed to a modest knowl¬ 
edge of Latin and Greek. He allowed no one to 
challenge his pronunciation, and the enthusiastic 
preacher, who in the heat of fervor, departed slightly 
from the standard pronunciation, found an immediate 
record in the teacher’s never absent note-book. He 
had not been long at the Hardy cottage when Hulda 
called him the pronunciation old maid, and hung in 
his room a blue silk pin cushion full of assorted pins. 
At the first meal at the house, he had set the girl’s 
face in a glow by correcting her pronunciation several 
times. She soon began to receive his correction 
complacently, and then to invite his criticisms. Mr. 
Cornman, though not giving to bestowing his time 
gratuitously, developed a critical interest in the girl s 
progress, and when David appeared Tuesday night to 
take Hulda to the social, the teacher was bending 
over Hulda’s shoulder directing her in her last pages 
in arithmetic. 

Hulda, knowing that her hair was tidy, put on her 


6 4 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


hat and shawl without leaving the room, and she 
and David were soon picking their way through the 
mud, in the clear moonlight of the cold winter 
evening. 

“Why didn’t you bring your old Crusty with you?” 
said David, when they came to the door of the 
house, which was open to the members of the church 
and the people of the town, for an entrance fee of 
ten cents, in accordance with the custom of the days 
of Dime Socials. 

“Oh,” cried Hulda, “I should have asked him. I 
forgot it. Hadn’t we better go back and get him?” 

“Not much, if I know myself,” said David, 
brusquely, pushing the girl before him into the house. 
She removed her wrap in the narrow front hall, then 
David again thrust her forward into the next room, 
which was lined with people sitting against the walls. 

There was an outburst of greeting and laughter, as 
the glowing girl made her appearance, followed by 
the blustering, blundering David, whom everybody 
liked. He was claimed at once by several different 
friends, but carried away finally by some laughing 
young girls to the kitchen, where a handkerchief was 
bound around his eyes, and he was at once made the 
central figure in a boisterous game of “Blind-man’s- 
buff.” 

Hulda, ill at ease, sank into a corner; the minis¬ 
ter’s wife came and spoke to her, inquired about her 
mother and the cousin's baby, then seeing a new 
arrival, hurried away on her mission of giving a smile 
and a word of welcome to every one. Hulda heard 


HARDUP LIFE 


6 5 


the laughter in the kitchen and was about to get 
herself out there, in some unobserved moment, when 
Mrs. Merry, the committee on introduction for the 
evening, entered the room, followed by Hulda’s 
boarder. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Cornman, the 
new teacher,” she said majestically, then relapsing 
from her dignity, she motioned to Hulda. 

“Here,” she said, “you come show him around.” 
She ran back into the hall for a new subject, and 
Hulda, as she saw no escape, stood up awkwardly 
and introduced him to a few people close at hand, 
then shrank back into her corner. He immediately 
sat down beside her with the crisp remark: 

“I thought I would come, Miss Hardy, even though 
you omitted to invite me.” 

“Oh,” she said, overcome with confusion, “I didn’t 
think of it. I didn’t know it was my place.” 

“Oh, well,” he returned, crossing his awkward 
length of limb and smiling shrewdly, “I will overlook 
it this time. You had a beau!” 

He apparently enjoyed the expression of wild as¬ 
tonishment on her face. She did not consider David 
her beau, and plainly said so. 

“But that only indicates a more complicated state 
of affairs,” insinuated the teacher, looking searchingly 
at her face, while the waves of color rolled over it. 
But David had peeped into the room, and seeing her 
distress, crossed over to them. 

“Bless me!” he exclaimed,seizing the teacher’s hand 
and shaking it long and vigorously. “How do you 

David of Juniper Gulch 5 


66 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


do? I’m glad to see you here. Why didn’t you come 
with us?” 

It was Mr. Cornman’s turn to be discomfitted. 
He saw the point with a dry smile, and rose to move 
his seat. But David stopped him and tumbled into 
Hulda’s lap a suit of cards of the then popular parlor 
game of Authors. 

“Let’s have a game. Keep your seat, do,” persisted 
David Strong, enjoying the chance of keeping the 
teacher in a corner. He moved up some chairs and 
quickly brought up a sprightly old maid and a small 
boy. Hulda assorted the cars and the game began, 
Hulda playing wretchedly. She was just beginning 
to take impressions about others, and the teacher 
annoyed and confused her. She knew nothing 
about character study. She only knew some people 
were kind to her, others were not. She was beginning 
to assign the teacher to his place in the scale as she 
played. Between her thoughts, and David’s laugh¬ 
able remarks, she lost all her points, and the cards 
accumulated in the hands of the teacher, and the de¬ 
lighted, little old maid. The teacher grew more 
genial, and made very correct little jokes, and David 
whispered to the old maid that he thought the new 
teacher was smitten with her; she grew more 
sprightly. Suddenly the small boy threw down his 
cards, and David, muttering something about two 
being better company than four, took Hulda’s arm 
and led her out to the kitchen, declaring that if she 
couldn’t play she should work. The sisters of the 
church, who were cutting cake and pouring tea, de- 


HARDUP LIFE 67 

dared that these were the very waiters they wanted, 
and that no one else would do as well. 

David burdened himself with a large tray of cups, 
and limping, and pretending to suffer greatly, called 
to Hulda to follow with the cake. Hulda was bright 
enough to surmise, that the women did not really 
care for her help, she being too slow and sedate, but 
that they had asked her simply to please David, be¬ 
cause they wanted his invaluable services, he being 
a great success at selling tea, at five cents a cup. 
But Hulda wanted to please David herself, so she 
accepted the task, wondering if she could not disap¬ 
point the good sisters, and do better than they sup¬ 
posed she could. She succeeded so well, that when 
she returned to have her plates filled, Mrs. Merry re¬ 
marked to a friend: “How that Hulda Hardy is 
coming out. I never saw her act like a young lady 
before. I wonder if she isn’t in love with David.” 

Mr. Cornman treated himself and the old maid to 
tea and cake, and remarked, smiling at the young 
couple before him, “I suppose this is typical of future 
dispensation of refreshments from your domicile.” 

Hulda colored and looked miserable, but David 
put on a vacant look, and said, turning away, “Too 
much dictionary in that for me! Can’t sense it, sir.” 

Every one in the corner laughed aloud, appreciat¬ 
ing his humor, more than the feeble wit of the 
teacher. 

“See here,” said David to Hulda, as they went 
back to the kitchen, “you have to learn to be saucy, 
if you want to get along in this world. Don’t let 


68 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


folks laugh at you. Send ’em back as good as they 
give.” 

“But, Dave,” she said, “it seems impolite. I wish 
people would talk the way they do in books. Then 
I could get along.” 

“O, bother the books, child, quit reading, and 
learn to act like other folks do. You’ll be set down 
for a fool, if you don’t.” 

Later he found her in a corner again. “Now you 
must come out of this,” he said. “This won’t do.” 
She looked at him imploringly, but he dragged her 
out, and took her a merry journey around the room, 
introducing her gravely to people she had known all 
her life, and making everything so irresistibly funny, 
that she was forced herself into several witty re¬ 
marks, which were received with applause that grat¬ 
ified David at least. 

“Dave, what makes you so happy to-night,” she 
asked later when they were picking their way home 
through the muddy, irregular street walks. He 
stopped, and took her arm, and she looked up to see 
that his face was sober and pale in the moonlight. 

“Hulda,” he said, “what account would I be if I 
didn’t make people laugh? I’d be a regular bore. I 
haven’t got learning, and I have to make up for it 
the best way I can.” 

“But Dave,” she replied eagerly, “why don’t you 
study and improve yourself?” 

“Not and rustle around, as I have to do, to get a 
home and a little start,” he returned. 

A quick pain crossed the girl’s heart. He was still 


HARDUP LIFE 69 

waiting and working for Cis, and she dare not tell 
him. What could she tell, if she dared? 

“I suppose I always act as I feel,” she said finally. 

“You can’t do that, if you want to get on in the 
world. Why don’t you rustle around and flirt with 
the teacher? People will talk, but they will think 
you are that much smarter.” Hulda laughed merrily. 

“I can do better with him than flirting, Dave, I 
am getting lots of free instruction out of him.” 

“Good-night, Hulda,” said David, opening the 
gate. 

“Well, good-night, Dave.” 

His merry whistle did not ring back through the 
clear air that night as usual. 

Hulda found the teacher’s assistance to be of great 
value. He only made suggestions here and there, 
but they were wisdom condensed. The science of 
arithmetic opened up magically, and her clouds in 
grammar were cleared away. He would sit by the 
sitting-room stove on cold, stormy evenings, appar¬ 
ently to keep his feet warm, but in reality to lead 
her over a great deal of ground in American History 
without much reading. 

On clear days she would go to the schoolhouse, 
and watch his manner of teaching and explaining. 
Truths and theorems which she had been reciting, 
parrot-like, developed vitality and meaning. The 
teacher then gave her a class of children to instruct 
occasionally, to the secret delight of the little tow- 
heads, who would cluster around her on the street, 
calling her the new school-marm; and Mr. Cornman 
frequently alluded to her as his “able assistant.” 


70 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Meanwhile Hulda heard nothing from Cis Beverly, 
except that she sometimes learned from the grand¬ 
parents, that their dear child was coming home. 

Nonie thrived, and Mrs. Hardy grew placidly at¬ 
tached to her; and all their discussions about her 
would end only in the conclusion that they could do 
nothing but wait. 

Once Mrs. Hardy went over to the Beverly farm, 
resolved to tell the old people about it, and give them 
the child, but she found Mrs. Beverly in her bed, 
and the old man so feeble, that she dare not disquiet 
them with such news. She only went to work to 
make them more comfortable. She swept the house, 
brewed some home-made medicine, baked a cake, 
and left them better in every way for her visit. Hulda 
met her at the front gate, for tea was ready, and 
Nonie fretting. 

“Never mind,” she said, when she heard her 
mother’s story, “its only a burden to us, not a trouble, 
and we will carry the burden and wait. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE TEACHERS’ EXAMINATION. 

The March days were often cold and windy, in 
those upper foot hills, and on this third of March, 
although the sun shone with glaring brightness, light¬ 
ing up the paths of snow in the canons and under the 
pines, yet the air was keen and piercing. 

The school-girl hurried down the paths of the hill 
with the miscellaneous wraps of the household bun¬ 
dled around her, the boy buttoned his roundabout 
under his chin and ran. A pale, thin woman shut 
her door with a bang, and hurried to her window to 
see if the stage might be passing. Hulda, having 
been up several hours, was warm and rosy and full 
of spirits. 

Mr. Cornman looked up from his coffee as she was 
tying on her hat, and said, “Don't be too sanguine, 
Miss Hardy, you might be frightened out of every¬ 
thing you know.” 

“Never fear,” she cried, “I will think of something 
to say.” 

The teacher, not having much sympathy with the 
elasticity of youth, with a sarcastic smile, turned to 
his breakfast. Hulda kissed her mother and sprang 
down the steps, and out of the gate with a swiftness 
71 


72 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


of motion that caused Hicks to pull up his horses sud¬ 
denly. Hulda handed up her reticule, climbed up onto 
the wheel, took the offered hand, landed onto the 
seated by the driver, and seated herself, while the 
uneasy horses started the stage. 

Hicks pushed the express box under her feet, and 
threw a blanket over her lap, while Hulda drew her 
wraps closer, as the wind came fairly into her face. 
Oh, the joy of the box-seat of a stage-coach behind 
four horses! Hulda was immediately transported 
from the dull realm of history and school-books to 
the bright glad world of her childhood and her hap¬ 
pier hours. That long, low grove of young pines and 
bushes, that lay along the road, had been her child¬ 
hood playground. Under its mysterious shadows lay 
all the ghosts, and fairies and brownies of her vivid 
imagination. How often had she sped by at dusk 
on winged feet! What uncanny creatures were con¬ 
demned to live under the brush-wood by the inven¬ 
tion of the active brained children of Hardup! There, 
crossing the gulch was her old rock-walled playhouse, 
abandoned now to younger inhabitants. There was 
the same mossy bowlder, upon which she had given 
many a tea party, with slate rock for plates, pine 
burrs for pitchers, and acorn shells for cups. There 
were the immovable, water-washed lounges and chairs, 
soft as divans to the merry inhabitants of that mossy 
house. There were her favorite pines, tall and 
scraggy, but dropping treasures of nuts every year. 
There was the hillside flume projecting over the 
canon, across which Hulda had taken many a perilous 


THE TEACHER’S EXAMINATION 


73 


climb impelled on, by the“My’s!” and “Oh My’s!” of 
admiring companions. There were the paths leading 
up into the hills, where she went for white lilies and 
rarer tiger lilies. There was the spring where the 
lady-slippers bloomed and waited for the fairies to 
use them. Listening to the clattering and clicking 
of the horses’ feet on the hard road, the girl’s mind 
was busy with the sweet memories of her happy 
childhood. 

“By hooky! you must be dead gone on him!” 
finally ejaculated Hicks, tired of her silence. “You 
haven’t spoke since we started.” 

Hulda looked around with wide eyes. 

“Gone how? What do you mean, Hicks?” The 
driver laughed, cracking his long whip. 

“Maybe you don’t understand, young folks never 
do.” She colored now. What if he were alluding to 
something he might have found out about her city 
trip! 

“Blushing, be ye? Well, good luck! But I’m 
thinking ye mount have found someone a little 
younger.” This with another sly look. 

Hulda was mystified. Her mind being filled with 
formulas and rules, and the purest thoughts of youth, 
commonplace gossip was profoundly obscure. Fi¬ 
nally, not wishing particularly to divine his meaning, 
she said: 

“Be sure and call for me Saturday night at the 
Forest Hotel. I am going to the Teachers’ Exami¬ 
nation, you know.” A new light appeared on the jolly 
driver’s face. 


74 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Yes, yes, I reckoned so. Ye can work together, 
ye know, and git along first rate.” Then the truth 
dawned upon her, and she laughed outright. 

“Mr. Cornman! Why Hicks, you’re crazy. Don’t 
you know me better than that?” Then Hicks was 
satisfied, and threw off his brake, and went flying 
down the grade with a relieved mind. 

But Hulda was disturbed. The idea of her name 
being associated with any one’s in that way was dis¬ 
tasteful to her. The thought of love or marriage for 
herself had never entered her mind. But the gener¬ 
ality of common people of the west are vigilant that 
few girls live long in this state of purity. Aprons 
with sleeves are hardly discarded before the average 
girl is continually reminded by all classes and ages 
that she has, or ought to have, a beau. 

Hulda brushed her hair in her little six by seven 
room at the hotel, and then went up to a big bleak 
schoolhouse on a windy hill where she found seven 
or eight applicants for teacher’s certificates gathered 
around a hot stove in a large room. She thought 
the men all reminded her of Mr. Cornman, and the 
women were young, plainly dressed, and pale and 
anxious-looking. 

The County Suprintendent, a small, lame man 
with a kindly face, sat at the desk with several 
teachers, constituting the County Board of Exami¬ 
nation, and they were unpacking large files of printed 
questions furnished by the State Board. 

Hulda went up with her letter of introduction 
kindly furnished by Mr. Joseph Cornman. The Super- 


THE TEACHER’S EXAMINATION 


75 


intendent read it, with a glance at the girl, and said, 
“Very well, Miss Hardy. Take your seat.” One 
of the men stood up and read the rules of the exam¬ 
ination, another arranged the applicants in the seats, 
one passed around the paper and pens, and the ar¬ 
duous written examination began. The first paper 
was on history, and Kulda was delighted to note 
that she knew all the answers. She wrote rapidly, 
finished her paper before any one else, and had time 
to look around at her laboring companions A young 
man had come in shortly before, and was seated at 
the desk in front of her. She noticed a shining white 
colar, black hair and a well poised head. At that 
moment some one opened a door; a draught of air 
carried Hulda’s last written sheet over onto the 
young man’s desk. He picked it up quickly, and 
turning, returned it to her. His face was clean 
shaven and characterized by a firm, manly, keenly 
intelligent expression. He was young, not many 
years older than she, and Hulda, feeling a sense of 
companionship, noticed him in the pauses of her work. 
He worked even more rapidly than she, however, and 
had even more time to look about. 

As soon as a recess was announced, he arose and 
went to the desk, shaking hands with all the mem¬ 
bers of the board, as if he knew them. Soon after 
she saw him with her letter of introduction in his 
hand, and he immediately came down and spoke to 
her, calling her by name. His manner was brotherly 
and pleasant. 

“You are from Hardup, I see. We don’t often 


76 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


have applicants from there. My name is Edward La 
Grange; I am teaching at Bird’s Flat. How are 
you getting along?” 

Then they seemed quite well acquainted already. 
He told her that he had a county certificate, but was 
trying for a State certificate. 

“I have a little request to make of you,” said Hulda 
smiling. 

“Certainly, what is it?” 

“Would you move yourself one seat forward? I 
can see across, and can read your papers as you pile 
them up.” He laughed. 

“Well, I have no objection. This is your first, and 
I am willing that you should profit by being behind 
me. The Board seated us.” She opened her eyes 
so wide that he laughed again. 

“But I can’t be dishonest,” she said, “and I hate 
temptation.” 

“I would not call that being dishonest,” he replied. 
But he moved his papers, and the order bell rang. 
She wondered if'he were annoyed, but he seemed to 
see the. humorous side of it, and after he had written 
a sheet he carefully covered it with a large white 
handkerchief, from which a faint perfume came across 
the desk. This process he repeated with each fresh 
sheet, glancing with a smile to see if she observed. 
When the noon recess was announced, he turned 
immediately to her. 

“Are you stopping at the Forest Hotel?” he asked. 
“Wait a moment, and I will walk with you.” Here 
‘ he was taking unquestioned possession of her, and 


THE TEACHER'S EXAMINATION 


77 

Hulda felt at ease with him, a new sensation for her 
with a stranger, and a man. 

Then, in a moment, he had introduced her to a 
Miss Gage and a Mr. Smith, and a Miss Cantwell and 
a Miss Fox, and all together, they walked out into 
the wind. Hulda drew a long, relieved breath. It 
was so sweet to get out into the air, and so pleasant 
to be with young people who seemed to be some like 
herself. The six young people walked down the 
hill in couples. 

“And so you were afraid my papers might be 
wrong,” said La Grange, banteringly, as the wind 
struggled with Hulda’s veil, finally tearing it from 
her bright flushing face. 

“Why, you don’t understand me at ail,” she said. 

“Oh, yes, I do, really, Miss Hardy. But if you 
would not be dishonest, why did you want tempta¬ 
tion removed.” 

“Oh, but I fear temptation,” she said. “I needed 
all my thoughts.” 

“Oh, I see,” he replied, reflectively. “Women are 
strong because they know they are weak. While 
I don’t flee temptation, and fall into wrong because 
I don’t run from it. Oh, well, that’s like us men.” 

The girl looked at him curiously. 

“I don’t believe you have ever fallen into serious 
wrong, Mr. La Grange.” He laughed merrily. 

“Well, I hope I merit your good opinion.” He 
took her to the door of the hotel. She ran up to her 
room. 

“I am a goose,” she thought, tearing down her 


78 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


hair, “I always take things too serious, as Dave says. 
Probably he is making fun of me.” 

In the afternoon she saw that La Grange, who had 
no difficulty with his papers, and had plenty of spare 
time, had been asked to assist the Board with the 
examination of the papers; so that he had no time 
at all to give her further attention. 

At noon on the last day, as she was walking up 
the hill with her usual rapid pace, he called and over¬ 
took her; she was tired and lonely. She had kept 
her room and studied most of the time after hours. 

“I only wished I knew how my papers were coming 
out,” she said to him as they walked along. “I sup¬ 
pose you have no right to tell me.” 

“I am not supposed to know which your papers are. 
That would not be considered fair,” he returned, 
looking at her. 

“Oh, to be sure,” apologized the girl, “but as you 
are so near my desk I supposed you couldn’t help but 
know.” 

“What if my conscience wouldn’t allow me to 
look,” laughed La Grange. 

“I beg your pardon.” She laughed too, and they 
were on very friendly and jolly terms. 

But that was not the truth; he knew all her papers. 
The fact was he had been interesting himself unduly 
in the progress of her work; a circumstance that gave 
rise, some months later, to serious complications. 
The last afternoon was long and the papers were 
difficult, and La Grange watched her with anxiety 
as each new paper of questions was handed her. The 


THE TEACHER’S EXAMINATION 


79 


Superintendent rose and said in a weary tone that 
as fast as the candidates finished their papers they 
were excused to go, and that those who were en¬ 
titled to certificates would receive them by mail. 

Hulda worked carefully and slowly and the after¬ 
noon changed into dusk, and the dusk to dark, and 
four ladies and three gentlemen were still writing. 
Hulda finished first; she folded her last paper with a 
sigh of relief, and went out quickly, glad as a freed 
bird. She put her hat and cloak on by the feeble 
light of a dirty lamp, and opened the front door to a 
grateful current of fresh air. La Grange quietly 
stepped up and filled the opening. 

“So you are through,” he said. “How happy you 
and I ought to be. Don’t you pity those poor pris¬ 
oners inside? I am nearly frozen waiting.” It came 
into her head, that she would be glad to have him 
take her to the hotel, but she said: 

“Why do you wait then?” He took hold of her 
arm. 

“Sit down on the step here, and I will tell you. 
See, the moon is just rising! You see, Miss Hardy, 
there are just eight of us left, and we thought we 
would double up and go to the dance. It was ar¬ 
ranged for me to take you; or rather, Miss Hardy, 
in the words of society, may I have the pleasure of 
your company?” 

She was silent, and he whistled a little tune softly 
and rubbed his cold hands, while he waited. He 
knew enough about Hardup society to know that she 
did not belong to the dancing circles. Then she had 


8o 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


not the graces or motions of a girl who danced much. 
She had such a pure, innocent face and dressed so 
plainly, perhaps she had never had opportunities to go 
to dances. But this was not so, for David would have 
taken her many times, or brought her partners; but 
Mrs. Hardy, a strict Methodist, had set her face firmly 
against it. She thought it very sinful to dance and 
she continually told her daughter so. Hulda had seen 
the lights and heard the music many times at the 
town hall of Hardup, but she had never felt any de¬ 
sire to oppose her mother’s opinions. 

But this was all new and different. La Grange 
had been kind to her; she wanted to be with him, 
and the other young people. She was struggling 
with what she considered her first temptation. He 
stopped whistling and waited. 

“I am sorry you asked me,” she said slowly, “for I 
don’t see how I can go.” 

“Don’t see. Well, you don’t have to see,” he re¬ 
plied, jocularly. “You just step out in the dark and 
depend on me. Don’t disappoint us now.” 

“I should be disappointed in myself if 1 went.” 
She spoke so seriously and firmly that he tried to see 
her face, which was in the shadow. 

“Is it a matter of that conscience again?” 

“Yes,” she said sadly, “mother has never allowed 
me to go to dances.” 

“Well,” he said, rising, “just wait a moment till I 
see how they are getting along, then I will take you 
down to your hotel, and see that you get some supper. 
They’re slow as time,” he said, returning, “slow as 


THE TEACHER’S EXAMINATION 


8l 


time. Smith is pulling his hair, and Miss Gage is 
chewing her pencil. Come, now, let us reason to¬ 
gether.” He was so cheerful and patient! But 
Hulda found that he was insistent. He tried all sorts 
of arguments and persuasions to induce her to go to 
the dance. “How do you know it is wrong to dance?” 
he urged, “when you have never danced? How do 
you know dances are not properly conducted when 
you never go?” She finally took refuge in the state¬ 
ment that her mother would be displeased. 

“That is an excuse,” he said, “and not a reason; 
but I will accept it. Come, let us make a fight for 
our supper.” 

The table-girl was in white with red roses in her 
hair, and Hulda did not see the bribe he slipped into 
her hand, to induce her to spread them a late lunch 
in the corner of the dining-room. Here they fell into 
a strain of merry talk, so that he quite forgot that he 
had promised to go to the dance, and suddenly re¬ 
membering, left her abruptly at the table. When 
she was slowly ascending the stairs, he called to her 
from below. 

“They’ve gone and left me, and I am excused from 
following,” he said. “Wouldn't you like to come and 
walk on the street?” She turned with a quick smile 
and blush of pleasure. 

“Will you wait a moment?” She ran to her room, 
dashed her-face with cold water, and came down with 
glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes. The town had 
already begun the revelry. The streets were full of 
carriages and wagons; a hilarious party had taken 

David of Juniper Gulch 6 


82 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


possession of the hotel parlor, and the halls were 
crowded. Children ran freely up and down the streets, 
and couples walked back and forth waiting for the 
dance to begin. • 

A large, rough, unpainted building used as a public 
hall and ball-room was heavily decorated with ever¬ 
greens, and lighted with numerous lamps of all de¬ 
scriptions. Doors and windows were wide open, and 
as soon as the dancing began, La Grange led his 
partner by, in hopes that she might relent and wish 
to enter. He stopped her by the door, and she stood 
erect watching the flying forms, charmed with the 
music, the motion and the gayety, while La Grange 
was watching her with amusement and admiration. 
The light shone full upon her shining eyes, and there 
was an unconscious smile upon her face. He gently 
drew her arm. 

“Come, let us go in a moment. Let me teach you 
to waltz.” Then all the beauty of her face paled, 
and she moved back into the shadow. 

“O, no, do not ask me. There will be no time in 
my life for dancing any way.” He laughed heartily 
at her seriousness, and they moved on; he was newly 
pleased with her that she had not yielded. 

“I would like to tell you, Miss Hardy,” he said, 
“how much I have done and how much I have danced. 

I am not much older than you. Pardon me, I am 
only twenty, or thereabouts. It is not a question of 
age, however; but you have a right to your opinion.” 

“Tell me what you have done.” 

“Well, if it will not be too tedious, I will. Sup- 


THE TEACHER’S EXAMINATION 


83 


pose I give you a sketch of my life. In the first 
place—” she* looked up at him to see his head held as 
usual very high and proud—“I don’t know where I 
was born or how old I am, or what my name is.” He 
looked down into her wide open eyes. “My foster 
father came to this country twenty years ago. At 
Panama a large number of steerage passengers were 
sick with fever, my own parents being among them. 
When the steamer was to start, they found my father 
dead and my mother dying. They would have left 
me, but a man among the steerage passengers took 
me in his arms, and said he was my uncle. He had 
taken a fancy to me. 

“Arriving at San Francisco he left for the mines, 
and I don’t think he left his name with the Steamer 
Co., or took any pains to find my people, if I had 
a:ny. He claimed not to know my name, but he 
loved me, and was kind to me; and I have only reas¬ 
oned it out lately that he really stole me. He went 
from place to place like all miners, and after a while 
he married a sturdy western girl, and I had a mother. 
Six years ago my good father died, and 1 have had to 
be the father of seven children that he left. He left 
us with a home and that was all. I have worked by 
the day in the mines, chopped wood, fiddled at 
dances, carried mail on snow shoes, and now I have 
taught for three years. But I have made my story 
too long. The moral is that I always go to a dance, 
if there are to be any school trustees or their daugh¬ 
ters present. I don’t mind telling you I hope some¬ 
time to get the Forest Grove school.” 


8 4 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“But when, and where, did you get your education ?” 
interrupted Hulda. 

“I haven’t any,” laughed La Grange. “I make 
people think I have. I studied nights, went to school 
whenever I could, and the rest I learned at dances, I 
guess,” looking down at her speaking face. “I have 
had to study Latin nights, and study how to be pop¬ 
ular daytimes.” 

“And you have learned that part well,” said Huldla 
warmly. 

“I go where the people go,” he continued. “I love 
the people and I hope that some time the people will 
love me, enough to elect me to office anyway. I in¬ 
tend to be a politician. I am studying law to that 
end. How I would love to get a bit of power in my 
hands.” 

“That is what I never expect to have,” she said 
simply. 

“O, yes, you can marry a voter and help me.” 

“And that I will never do,” she cried earnestly. 

“Why?” His tone was peremptory. 

“I can’t understand the men. I am afraid of them.” 

“I shall take you right in,” he laughed, “I might 
hurt you.” 

“O, no.” 

“Well, you can understand this much about me. I 
will help you every way I can to get a school. You 
are so good, you never could get one alone.” 

“If I get a certificate,” she said. They crossed 
over to the hotel.” 

“Now, good-night,” he said. She gave him her 
hand.” 


THE TEACHER’S EXAMINATION ' 85 

“I suppose you will go to the dance.” 

“Yes, for a while,” he still held her warm hand. 
“And you go home—?” 

“Before to-morrow night if I get a chance.” 

“Well, good-night.” 

She withdrew her hand and went slowly up the stairs 
from the hallway. She turned at the landing, He 
was looking up at her, his hat in his hand. She 
blushed and said again: 

“Good-bye.” 

“Good-night and pleasant dreams,” he said and went 
out. 

Hulda came down stairs the next morning at the 
early dawn, and ate breakfast with the laborers. Be¬ 
fore she was through, she heard Hicks in the hall in¬ 
quiring for her. She ran out. He told her he had 
the job of taking the musicians to Bird’s Flat for 
another ball that night, and he would go around 
through Hardup for her if she wished. 

“Hicks, you never forget me,” she said. 

“Oh, git out. Them boys’ll be as dry as chips, and 
I have to go to Hardup any way. Git your things, 
girl.” 

He shut the band boys inside and put her on the 
seat, and they were soon clattering out of town. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A GREAT BEREAVEMENT. 

Mrs. Ellis slept late on the morning of the day that 
she had carried the basket down to the country girl’s 
room at the early hour of three o’clock. She then 
thought that she would not go down until she heard 
some demonstration from someone; but her curiosity 
overcame her patience, and about ten o’clock she 
went down to the room she had given the stranger. 
Hearing no sound, she opened the door and saw at a 
glance that the room was vacated. She closed the 
door with a bang, and went about the halls giving 
orders to Sam in a higher tone than usual, and with 
much clatter of her keys. She was never surprised 
at anything, but she was annoyed because Max had 
returned her trick with an equally smart one. He 
had evidently been there and spirited the whole thine: 
out from under her nose in broad daylight. He had 
manifestly taken the girl into his confidence and found 
a cheaper way of carrying out his deviltry than em¬ 
ploying her to do it. She shook her curls, and re¬ 
solved to think no more about it. At eleven o’clock 
Royse found Sam making the bed. He stood in the 
middle of the room unfastening his overcoat. 

“Sam, where’s the lady?” Sam shrugged his 
shoulders and patted the pillows, his face like a mask. 


A GREAT BEREAVEMENT 


87 


“I no know.” 

“Yes, you do, you devil; where is she?” Sam 
grinned. 

“She’s gone, all gone.” He took up his pails and 
started out. 

“Come back, you grinning idiot. Where’s the 
girl?” 

“I no know. She all gone; everything gone. Gas 
burn all night. No gettee dollar.” 

“Damn the dollar!” said Max vigorously; and he 
strode down the stairs. 

He had been left; that was all; the country girl had 
seen through him and gone home. But he had plenty 
on his mind to attend to, and he gave the matter no 
further thought. 

It was some months before he came again to this 
down town lodging house. The halls had been 
lighted for the evening. The floors were bright with 
new rugs, and the wood work shone with new varnish. 
Max Royse, Land Agent, went slowly up to the 
upper rooms. He was much more dignified than 
formerly. He had improved in health, weight, ap¬ 
pearance, and general self-respect. He had prospered 
too; a successful speculation having made him many 
thousand richer. He was president of a political 
club, had something to do with a paper, and he had 
altogether lifted himself above his former level. His 
clothes were becoming, and his overcoat was a mar¬ 
vel of fineness and finish. His tall hat had never 
before been so glossy and spotless. 

He came to the private rooms of Mrs. Ellis; went 


88 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


in without knocking, shut the door, and sat down. 
A clear silvery voice rang through the hall. 

“Sam, who was that went in my room?” 

Soft, celestial slippers retreated down a by-hall, 
and very soon the owner of the voice swept into the 
room with her usual grace and dignity. Her dress 
was perfect. It was a trailing silk tastefully trimmed 
in jet. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, bowing but not giving him 
her hand, “I was not expecting so grand a caller. 
Allow me to take your hat. Take this new easy 
chair.” 

“Thank you,” he returned.coolly. “I think I will, 
and seeing you’re home I will light my cigar.” She 
brought him a match, and after lighting his cigar 
leisurely, he took from an inner pocket two theater 
tickets, and handed them to her. 

“Go?” he asked. 

She looked at them critically, laid them down, and 
left the room. When she returned he said through 
the smoke: 

“Sam cook?” 

“Of course.” 

“I never have anything to eat except when I come 
here,” he said. 

He sat calmly looking into the bright grate fire 
waiting foi her to entertain him. She drew up a 
wide, cushioned chair, sat down and leaned back in 
easy elegance. 

“Well,” she said after a pause, “what are you 
, passing yourself off for now? Are you the respect¬ 
able and bereaved widower ?” 


A GREAT BEREAVEMENT 


89 


He looked up and nodded slightly. 

“But that was three months ago by the papers, 
Max, I went to the church myself. I don’t often go 
to funerals in high society. Don’t look so solemn, 
you frighten me.” He threw his cigar into the fire, 
flung up his arms and began to look more like himself. 

“Minerva, she was a terrible loss. I don’t care if 
I am a devil, it’s hard to get along without her. She 
was good and smart, and respected by every one. 
Why she could almost run an Orphan Asylum all 
alone, she had so much influence. She was so highly 
respected and religious that I could be off on a sort 
of vacation all the time.” 

“Which you were.” 

“Well, I was always home Sundays, and she never 
knew what a wretch of a husband she had. Poor 
girl! She left the children in my care, and made me 
promise to take them to church every Sunday.” 

Mrs. Ellis laughed sarcastically. 

“And you do?” 

“Astonishing as it is, I do. Don’t make fun of 
me. I thought a good deal of Mrs. Royse.” 

She yawned audibly with a lace handkerchief over 
her mouth. 

“What became of that country girl?” she asked, 
after a pause. 

“Which one?” 

“O, that one that came here that night.” Max 
laughed heartily. 

“O, she made up her mind I was a fool, and ran 
away.” 


go 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Didn’t you take her away?” 

“No, ’pon my word and honor, I never saw her 
again.” 

She believed him and ventured to make one more 
step in the dark. 

“Max, where is that two hundred dollars you prom¬ 
ised me?” 

To her astonishment he took out a fat purse and 
handed her the money. They were both silent a 
while. 

“And little Cis Beverly. What became of her at 
last?” 

“O, she got on all right, I got her a nice room, and 
went up the next day and told her the baby died of 
croup. She cried a little, but she soon lost faith in 
me after that. She found out who I was. She left 
the place and I lost her. I’ve been trying to hunt her 
up; she was a nice little thing, and if her record’s 
all right, I’d as lief marry her as not.” 

Mrs. Ellis threw up her hands. 

“O, you make me nervous. Let her alone. She 
had a home in the mountains, and I suppose she’s 
gone there. She’s too good for you, any way.” 

Here Mrs. Ellis rose and opened the door, and Sam 
appeared with a tray of dishes. After they had 
lunched, she put on a stylish gray velvet opera bon¬ 
net, a rich opera cloak with pink silk lining, and, 
promptly at eight, these two fine looking and elegantly 
dressed people entered a private box at the Baldwin 
Theater. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


DAVID’S PLOTTING. 

The morning of Hulda’s return from the examina¬ 
tion at Forest Grove, she sat in the little kitchen, 
where her mother was washing dishes, giving her an 
animated account of every incident of her trip. A 
minute description of La Grange, however, was lost 
in the general description of all. 

“And mother,” she cried, “some of the questions 
were so hard I saw the members of the Board look¬ 
ing them up. They didn’t know them.” 

“And perhaps you will find that you didn’t know 
them, either,” said the mother reprovingly. 

“Even so,” said a grave voice behind her. She 
looked back startled. The Hardup teacher was smilr 
ing over her head in his peculiar, sarcastic manner. 
He had come in the back door, and held in his hand 
a spray of the first cherry blossoms. He dropped it 
into the girl’s lap. She snatched it up with an ex¬ 
clamation. Ah, the shy, beautiful things, to come 
out while she was gone! She held the blossoms to 
her pink cheek with one hand, and gave the other to 
the teacher, saying simply: 

“Good morning, Mr. Cornman.” 

“I see you haven’t changed any, since you went 
91 


92 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


away,” he said, his face relaxing into an admiring 
expression, as he looked down upon her. 

“I am just as egotistical,” she answered, dropping 
her eyes. He went out as quietly as he came in. 
How he annoyed her with his implied criticism! She 
was reminded by his appearance, that her success, if 
she had succeeded, was due to his help. 

“He thinks I am such a goose!” she exclaimed to 
her mother. 

“He thinks enough of you to bring you flowers,” 
said the mother with an apparent insinuation in her 
emphasis. 

“Oh, mother!” Then she thought of what the stage 
driver had said. “I hate him.” 

“Hush, hush, child, you owe him a great deal.” 

Hulda snatched a red shawl and hood that hung 
behind the door, and ran out into the orchard. How 
sweet it was, to get with one bound, away from such 
suggestions into the warm sunshine, and the bright¬ 
ness and the beauty of the orchard! She wanted a 
little run after her three days confinement. Snatch¬ 
ing a hammer she first nailed several loose pickets 
back into place, then went out by her favorite 
orchard path, to a grove of young pines on the slope 
beyond. The cold, brushy branches of the low, thick 
pines whipped her form, as she pushed her way 
through, and the grasses dampened her feet. But 
she loved to crush the grass and smell the strong 
odor of the pines. She had missed this walk for a 
long time; she had been so busy with her studies. 
She was eager to see if there were some wild flowers 


DAVID’S PLOTTING 


93 


on the sunny hill beyond the pines. She had always 
greeted the first blossoms in the spring. She had a 
fancy that they would know, if she were not there. 
To seek out the first blossoms and press them to her 
lips was to her a keen delight, the more because it 
was of the nature of stolen pleasures. 

The women of Hardup were not advocates of out 
door sports and pleasures, and Hulda knew that 
whenever her form was seen on the hill-side, she was 
alluded to as the “Tom boy.” The leaders of society 
in Hardup affected paler cheeks than she had, and 
young ladies could not ruffle their dresses according 
to the prevailing styles, and run the hills also. And 
so, fearing ridicule, this red cheeked girl hid her 
love of hills and trees and flowers. But she kept her 
tryst with all the flowers as they gayly followed each 
other through the cool spring grasses. The wild 
flowers were her teachers, and like them she kept 
more and more away from the beaten paths of Hardup 
life. 

She had every reason to believe that she would 
know her fate from the County Board of Examina¬ 
tion by mail on the following Monday night. Monday 
was a long day, despite her exertions to shorten it. 
She brought out all the soiled clothes and turned the 
kitchen and back-porch into a laundry. Then she 
cleaned windows, and hung fresh muslin curtains in 
the sitting-room. Night-fall found everything about 
the little home in perfect order. She had intended 
to watch for the stage, and when it came, to run 
down to the office, for if the news was, that she had 


94 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


failed she could bear it better alone. But just at 
sundown David put his great square shoulders and 
laughing face into the kitchen, and she knew by his 
Sunday coat that he had come to spend the evening. 
That meant extra work for supper. Then the teacher 
came in, in dressing-gown and slippers, and said he 
would be going down town after tea, and he would 
bring up the mail. 

Hulda’s dark eyes snapped wrathfully at him as he 
went out of the room, which drew a laugh from David. 
“I suppose the old man inspects your mail,” he said, 
as Hulda compressed her lips and spread on the tea 
plates with considerable clatter. 

“Ah, well,” he continued, “I suppose you’ll be leav¬ 
ing your kind guardian for a school in the back 
woods.” 

“The farther back the better!” cried the girl. 

“Yes,” went on her tormentor, “and it won’t be a 
week before that antiquated old mummy up-stairs will 
be around borrowing my mule to go and see you.” 

Hulda brandished the carving knife over his head. 

“See here, girl, don’t kill me with that dull old 
thing. Let me sharpen it up for you. Where’s your 
whet-stone?” 

“Yes,” she said, “you may as well be of some use, 
Dave.” 

She brought him her box of knives and was bending 
over him showing him just how she wanted her chop¬ 
ping knife sharpened, when the door opened softly, 
and the teacher entered with his usual catlike tread. 
Mr. Cornman, from his habits of commanding and 


DAVID’S PLOTTING 


95 


practicing order and quiet in the school-room, had be¬ 
come a constant illustration of all his rules. His 
voice was usually the first indication of his presence 
in a room. Hulda started and flushed with nervous¬ 
ness when she heard his voice. 

“Quite a domestic scene,” he said, rubbing his 
hands over the stove. David glanced up and saw an 
expression back of the teacher’s cold smile that he 
did not altogether like. Hulda went quickly out to 
the kitchen to bring in the tea. David finished the 
knives, and then leaned back against the wall in a 
mood of unusual silence and thoughtfulness; he did 
not speak till Mrs. Hardy placed his chair and beck¬ 
oned him to the tea table. Evidently some new pot 
of humor was on to brew. 

Tea went on in silence, and, after unusual delay, 
it seemed to Hulda the teacher arose, slowly removed 
his faded dressing gown and put on his coat and over¬ 
coat. Then he put on his overshoes in the hall, and 
came again into the room to roll his wool muffler 
around his neck. Hulda watched his preparations 
behind the tea pot with aching nerves. She could 
have flown to the office and back while he was buck¬ 
ling his overshoes. 

David sat in a corner, whistled softly, and patted 
his knees in a most aggravating manner. Finally the 
school-teacher went out. Hulda followed him to the 
door, and saw him fairly out of the gate. Then she 
returned, slammed the door behind her, and threw 
herself against it, in an attitude of hopeless patience. 
David came out of his corner. 


g6 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“I give him just two hours at that rate,” he said. 
“Come, Hulda, you poor martyr, let’s wash the 
dishes and have a game of chess before he gets back. 
Won’t he make an agreeable husband, though? You 
can go to Jericho and back while he is turning 
around.” 

“Yes,” cried the girl, carrying out her arms full of 
dishes, “but he won’t get married. He’ll never get 
ready.” 

“Don’t you be too sure,”said David, following her 
out with the rest. “I bet I can make the old fellow 
propose to you in less than three months.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you.” 

“O, Dave, you can’t. How?” 

“Easy enough. I’ll make him think I want you 
myself.” 

“Which you do,” she cried, falling in with the joke 
and laughing merrily. 

After that it became quiet in the little house. The 
dishes were put away, Mrs. Hardy sat sewing where 
the light was best, and Hulda had forgotten her 
troubles watching David’s queen. A low shuffle at 
the front door announced Mr. Cornman’s return. 
He came in as methodically as he went out. He re¬ 
moved his overshoes with care and placed them out¬ 
side. Then his overcoat, muffler and hat were, one 
at a time, removed and hung in place on the rack. 
He carefully smoothed his hair, then came into the 
room, closed the door softly with the aid of both 
hands, and seeing nothing to further delay him, pro- 


DAVID’S PLOTTING 


97 


duced from his inner pocket, a long, yellow envelope. 
Hulda sprang forward and snatched it, but it was 
again snatched and David held it high over her 
head. 

“Quit tormenting the poor girl,” pleaded Mrs. 
Hardy. 

“Who’s been tormenting her?” said David. 

Hulda bit her lip, then sat down over the chess 
board. 

“It’s your move, Dave.” David dropped the letter 
in her lap, and carefully removed the chess board. 
Then Hulda sprang up and waved a bit of crisp buff 
paper in the air. Cornman looked at it in amaze¬ 
ment. 

“It’s a First Grade County Certificate,” she cried. 

She dropped it in her mother’s lap and ran out of 
the room. David found her a little later leaning over 
the front gate, quietly shedding tears of relief and 
joy, against her old red shawl. 

“Well, good-night, Hulda,” he said, “you’re all 
right now.” 

“Dave,” she whispered, “wait.” 

“Well, what is it?” 

“Dave, you mustn’t make so much fun of the 
teacher. It was by his help, you know, that I suc¬ 
ceeded.” 

“Oh, bother! you’d have got it any way.” 

“No, I wouldn’t. Now don’t ridicule him to his 
face. He’s not young like us, Dave.” 

“Oh, well, if you really mean it, I’ll quit—” 

“For always?” 

David of J'tinip'ef Gulch 7 


g8 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


David was striding away, his hands in his pocket. 
He turned back and whispered, “Till to-morrow.” 

There was no use trying to manage David. But 
for the next month David managed Hulda quite to 
his satisfaction. He declared that she needed a rest 
from her books, and several times a week he appeared 
at the cottage to take the rather unwilling girl to 
some social, “sing” or meeting of the “Dime Society.” 

And the society, which these gatherings constituted 
in Hardup, opened its arms kindly to the young woman 
just awakening from the lethargy of girlhood. She 
had achieved considerable local distinction for her 
success before the Board of Examination, and some 
of the good matrons in town openly favored what they 
chose to consider her engagement to David, for, ac¬ 
cording to their ideas, marriage with a good honest 
man was much better than “teaching school,” as they 
expressed it. And so Hulda had many invitations to 
come and spend the afternoon, and bring her mother 
and stay “till after tea.” 

Hulda, in the meanwhile, by the advice of Mr. 
Cornman, sent her applications here and there to the 
trustees of country schools. But some never em¬ 
ployed young teachers, some never employed women, 
others had sent East for teachers, and so there 
seemed to be but little chance for her. 

“Well, never mind,” she said to her mother, “I’ll 
take up the carpets and clean house, and by that 
time something may happen.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


CHERRY VALLEY. 

It was on one Monday morning in the last week of 
April, that Hulda stood on the little back porch of 
the cottage, with her sleeves rolled up, and her 
white arms plunged into a tub of foamy suds. 

The sun shone brightly across the clean floor, and 
a view into the kitchen showed that order had been 
established there before the washing began. The 
birds sang in the fruit trees that brushed against the 
wall of the house. Bruno, the quiet old dog, sat on 
the step wagging his tail, uneasily intent on watching 
some pigs, that were hunting around on the outside 
for a weak place to get in the orchard fence. He 
looked at Hulda anxiously, with his ears erect, begg¬ 
ing for permission to show his dislike of the intrud¬ 
ers. But the girl was intent on her own thoughts. 

The studies of the long winter, and the social 
pleasure of the spring with David, were all over, and 
life with her was now uneventful. It was a vacation 
in the school and the teacher was away. David had 
gone on his usual round of spring prospecting. In 
these quiet days, more than before, Hulda had been 
thinking of Cis Beverly and her long silence. She 
and her mother had talked it all over many times by 
the seclusion of the evening fireside. She had once 
99 


I oo 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


walked out to the Beverly home, to see if the old 
people were comfortable, and to elicit information if 
she could. She found the old couple happy over a 
letter they had received. Cis had sent them some 
money, and said she was well and working in a candy 
store, and would come home when she had saved 
more money. The letter was a long rambling mix¬ 
ture full of love and remembrances to all the farm 
pets; even the birds that nested in the porch were 
not forgotten. 

Hulda had looked at the mild old people sitting so 
calmly by the fire talking of their chickens, their 
garden, the cow and fruit trees; and then she rose 
with a sigh, resolved to carry her heavy secret alone, 
rather than disturb their peace. 

“Law, now, ye’re not goin’ till I make ye a cup 
of tea,” had said the little grandmother, dropping her 
knitting onto the cushion of the chair, and crowning 
her face with glasses on top of her white cap. 

“Don’t be in such a hurry. Stop and have a bite 
with us, now do,” had also urged the grandfather. 
“Ma, I’ll go right down cellar and get you a can of 
cherries.” 

So Hulda had staid, and was quite comforted by 
the trust and patience of the good old people, and the 
homely comforts of the quiet little rooms. 

She passed her opinion on the new calf, climbed 
into the loft and pitched down sufficient hay to last 
several weeks, set some hens for grandma, and then 
hurried home with her problem unsolved. 

This morning in April, as she turned the strange 


CHERRY VALLEY 


IOI 


secret over in her mind, there was no trace of any 
shadow of it in her bright eye and healthful, glowing 
face. She could hear the clatter of the sewing 
machine in the bedroom, and her mother’s voice 
singing contentedly, “There’s peace in the valley of 
blessing so sweet”, and she was glad that her mother 
seemed to feel no extra worry, on account of the 
child. The mother had cared for it uncomplainingly. 
It had been so long since she had rocked a child to 
sleep, and she was so lonely at times when Hulda 
was at her books, she had grown to have something 
of a motherly feeling for the little waif, for such she 
really believed it to be. So that neither Mrs. Hardy, 
singing in the bedroom over some blue calico shirts 
she was making for David, or Hulda, absorbed in her 
thoughts, heard the noise of a wagon, the click of 
the gate, and a knock at the front door. 

The stranger tapped a few times, then walked 
around to the back door and came upon the pleasant 
picture of Hulda, now pining up the long braid of 
hair that had fallen over the tubs. 

Hulda heard a step and turned to see a plain, 
kindly looking man with sandy hair and beard, and 
he was looking at her with an amused twinkle in his 
eye. 

“Does the widow Hardy live here?” 

“Yes,” said Hulda simply, “will you come in?” 

She led the way into the sitting room, the stranger 
saying as he darkened the door. “I believe it is Miss 
Hardy I have come to see.” 

Hulda’s heart bounded suddenly, but she spoke to 


102 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


her mother, and the two women waited for the 
stranger to explain his errand. He placed his hat 
on the table, took the proffered chair and began to 
feel about the pockets of his coat, as if he intended 
to produce a letter. But he either failed in his search, 
or abandoned it, for he presently said: 

“My name is Woods. I live in Cherry Valley and 
have come to see if the young lady doesn’t want to 
teach our school. We’ve just started our district. 
We’ve got thirteen or fourteen scholars. You’ve 
been recommended to us, and if you want to, come 
and try it.” 

“Try it?” said the girl, “I shall be delighted.” 

“I’ve no doubt you’ll try,” said Mr. Woods. “I 
like the looks of you. I’m glad you know how to 
wash,and if you’ll wash up some of those young ’uns, 

I won’t care.” 

They all laughed, and Hulda felt some acquainted 
with the leading trustee of the Cherry Valley school; 
the next Saturday she rode away with him in the 
spring-wagon. 

Cherry Creek came out of a mountain canon, and 
formed itself in a pretty valley, sufficiently wide to be 
divided into several good farms with rich garden land 
on the flats, wheat fields on the slopes, and pastur¬ 
age on the hills above. It was a long, rambling road 
of fifteen miles from Hardup to Cherry Valley, up 
and down a long grade, through a canon, around a 
mountain, and finally through a hilly country covered 
with manzanita bushes, scrub oaks and scattering 
pines. 


CHERRY VALLEY 


103 


Hulda, entertained by the pleasant and somewhat 
jovial Mr. Woods, and full of thoughts of her sudden 
change and unexpected good luck, took but little 
notice of the road and mountain scenery, only notic¬ 
ing it when they descended to Cherry Valley and fol¬ 
lowed the road along the creek. 

The road ran along by a rail fence for a mile, and 
then stopped where the fence changed to one of hewn 
pickets. Hulda could see through the rows of an 
orchard the form of a long, low, unpainted building. 
Immediately she heard children’s voices, one of them 
shouting, “Mamma, mamma, they’ve come.” Three 
little boys ran down the grassy path, and mounted 
the fence in an inquisitive row. “There’s your first 
school,” said Mr.Woods, as he helped Hulda to the 
ground. “Hi! you little rascal, jump down from that 
fence and carry these bundles. Here’s one for each 
of you. Now scamper and show the teacher the 
way.” 

Two ran like startled deer to the house, and the 
oldest, a self-possessed lad of nine years, swung open 
the gate for Hulda, and looked up inquiringly into her 
face as they walked in. The girl was not used to 
children familiarly, and she was trying to think of 
something to say to the child. The boy kept by her 
eyeing her from head to foot, evidently only to gratify 
his own curiosity. There was something on his 
mind; and finally he turned, walking backward, so 
that he could see her fairly, and broke out with: — 

“Teacher, be you goin’ to lick?” 

Hulda could not recover herself sufficiently to an- 


104 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

swer this astonishing question, but a little woman in 
a dark calico dress flew around the corner. She was 
a dark haired woman with a kindly face and gentle 
voice, and a breezy, cheery way, that won the girl’s 
love and confidence at once. She took Hulda’scold, 
gloved hands, and kissed her as if she had known 
her always. Then she led her around the building 
where a long porch ran the length of the house. 
Through one of the several doors opening into it, 
they entered the family sitting-room, where a fire 
blazed cheerily in the fire-place, for it was a cool 
dusk after a windy day. 

“Don’t you know,” said little Mrs. Woods, draw¬ 
ing out a large rocker, “I am so glad you have come, 
even if it wasn’t to teach. I suppose Mr. Woods has 
told you, that this is the only place to board. I like 
it here ever so much, but I do get lonesome. I used 
to have such nice neighbors back in Indiana.” 

The young girl had not yet learned the art of open¬ 
ing a lively convesation about nothing, so she said 
simply, “I am afraid I shall not be much company.” 
But Mrs. Woods answered hopefully: 

“We shall not worry about that, Miss Hardy. 
There now, go away, all of you,” she continued to 
the three little flaxen heads that appeared in the 
doorway. 

“Papa’s bringing the trunk,” said the eldest, hop¬ 
ing the item of news would make an excuse for his 
presence. Heavy steps were heard outside, and 
when the trunk appeared, Hulda discovered that the 
room allotted to her was a new addition that had been 


CHERRY VALLEY 


105 

made by siding up the end of the porch. Mrs. Woods 
showed her the small apartment, and Hulda was 
charmed with the novel room. The door opened 
onto the porch, and the window had a pretty view of 
the hills. Mrs. Woods, herself, had lined and 
papered the room, the bed was snowy white, and a 
large braided rug covered the clean rag carpet. 

Hulda closed the door, while Mrs. Woods drew the 
three boys away, and she knelt and unlocked her 
trunk, thankful that she had found so acceptable a 
home. There was a place behind the door to hang 
her dresses. She placed upon the tiny table by the low 
window the books she had brought with her, a Latin 
grammar and lexicon, Caesar and Virgil, and four 
well-worn blue volumes of poems, the works of Mrs. 
Browning and Mrs. Hemans. These four blue vol¬ 
umes had been her companions from childhood. Mil- 
ton, Tupper, and Tennyson, she had read as tasks 
set by her mother, and she had neglected the Shakes¬ 
peare Mr. Cornman had charged her to study, to read 
over and over the lines of Mrs. Browning, that were 
full of thoughts she could understand. Now as she 
felt the first pang of loneliness, she took one of the 
blue volumes and laid it against her cheek. But she 
was calm and unemotional on the threshold of her 
new future, and as unwarned and unprepared for the 
common troubles and sorrows of a girl’s life, away 
from home, as poor Cis Beverly when she shook her 
curls on the streets of the great city. 

The mental food furnished by Mrs. Browning, how¬ 
ever delicately served, did not meet the needs of a 


106 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

young mind in this new and unformed country. No 
one enters life prepared for it. But whatever weak¬ 
ness she felt then, was speedily comforted by this 
little blue book laid against the red bloom of her 
cheek, and a swift flitting through her mind of the 
sweet thoughts of Mrs. Browning. 

Then there came a little step and a timid knock at 
the door, then a louder knock and a boy’s voice call¬ 
ing, “Teacher, supper’s ready.” Hulda opened the 
door to three little serious faces that faded away in 
the dark, and she followed them through the sitting- 
room into a plain, bare little dining-room. 

Alex, the eldest and the boldest, proudly drew a 
chair for her to the round table, set for tea, and then 
passed into a further room from which she heard his' 
voice in a loud whisper, “She’s in there.” 

Mrs. Woods came in with covered dishes in her 
hands, and the boy came back and took his stand 
where he could command the best view of the object 
of his curiosity. 

Mr. Woods, red and fresh from his wash-pan ab¬ 
lutions, came in leading the second boy, also rosy and 
fresh. 

“Miss Hardy, what do you think of this boy for a 
scholar?” he said, lifting him up and placing him in 
his chair, where the child dropped his head and cov¬ 
ered his eyes with his fingers. The father then 
dragged in the last one. 

“This,” he said, crowding him into a high chair, 
which he had outgrown, is our four year old Trum- 
ball, Trummy for short. It won’t be long till he can 
go £0 school.” 


CHERRY VALLEY 


107 


Trummy hid behind his tin plate, which he refused 
to put down till finally compelled by his mother. 
Alex, the eldest, needed no introduction, for he 
promptly slid into a chair at the teacher’s side, watch¬ 
ing her all the time with restless eyes, and only pre¬ 
vented from talking by the remanding glances of his 
mother. 

Mr. and Mrs. Woods were so kind and deferential 
to the young teacher, and so cheerful withal, that 
Hulda began to feel a higher estimation of herself, 
and a strength and dignity equal to the demands of 
her position, came to her aid. 

A strength a little tried, when Alex, unable longer 
to contain himself, cried out: 

“The Dormses, they said they didn’t want no Yan¬ 
kee teacher.” 

But she joined Mr. Woods’ laugh, and relieved 
Mrs. Woods’ embarrassment by her merry com¬ 
posure. 

After tea, Mrs. Woods, with her motherly manner, 
put Hulda into the rocking chair before the sitting 
room fire, built more for cheer than for warmth; a 
bright lamp was placed on a round table near her, 
and she felt at home as the family gathered around. 
They might have been her own home folks, so easily 
did they adapt themselves to the presence of a 
stranger. 

Alex brought his book and slate, his marbles, and 
a box of much treasured rock specimens, to the 
teacher’s lap; then he would have given her a com¬ 
plete description of all the horses, pigs, and chickens 


IOB t)AVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

on the place, but his mother remanded him to the 
corner to amuse his brothers, while she, with a little 
coat to patch, took the post of honor by the guest. 

Mrs. Woods was one of those pleasant, plain wo¬ 
men, whose prettiness consists mainly in the real 
goodness that predominates in the expression of the 
face and the general manner. Hulda watched her 
with admiring eyes, as she deftly ran her needle in 
and out, darning each little hole or spot; and Mrs. 
Woods, glancing in the pauses of her work, was not 
unmindful of the attractiveness of the girl by her side, 
who folded her hands awkwardly, as if unaccustomed 
to inaction; and yet, who bore herself in her girlish 
dress, with graceful dignity. Hulda had been train¬ 
ing her hair to correspond with her new honors, and 
it now lay in a great coil on top of her head, with¬ 
out art or form, looking as if it might fall any mo¬ 
ment on her shapely shoulders. 

In the two years Mrs. Woods had been in her new 
foot hill home, she had found few congenial people 
among her scattered neighbors, and she regarded the 
coming of a teacher to board with her, as a happy 
break in her monotonous life. She had hoped to see 
an older person, but the girl had such a thoughtful, 
though girlish face, that she at once felt drawn to 
her. 

“Shall I tell you something about the people here, 
and the children ?” she asked, hesitatingly. “I know 
it would help you. Well, there is the Dorms family.” 
Just then Mr. Woods tramped across the dining-room 
and looked in ready to join the family. 


CHERRY VALLEY 


IOg 


“Don’t tell her about the Dormses, she’ll find that 
out soon enough,” he said. Mrs. Woods looked up 
with a frown broken by a quick smile. 

“Abram, did you feed the calves? I left the milk 
on the stove.” Abram’s face fell a full length. 

“I forgot it,slick as a whistle. Alex, come and help 
father with the calves.” 

Alex followed his father and Mrs. Woods con¬ 
tinued: 

“You see the Dorms family are democrats and they 
will send five, and the Bates are republicans, and 
they will send six. They are neighbors, and have 
trouble, of course, about stock, and between the 
boundary lines and politics, even the children war 
when they meet each other.” 

Hulda opened her eyes roundly; this was discour¬ 
aging information. 

“But I hope they will behave at school. Buck 
Dorms is nineteen, and Millie Bates is sixteen, and 
such a big, overgrown girl!” 

Here Abram again interrupted the conversation and 
drew a chair to the circle. He had just seated him¬ 
self, when his wife snapped a thread and looked up. 

“Did you put in the lambs? It might shower.” 

Evidently Abram was forgetting the chores. Com¬ 
pany was a rare event, so isolated were they on the 
large farms in the days before Cherry Valley became 
a solid greenery of fruit trees. Mr. Woods raised 
his hands with an expression of despair; then he turned 
to Alex. 

“Sonny, can’t you take the lantern and put the 
lambs in the shed for father ?” 


no 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Alex came forward quickly, proud of being consid¬ 
ered of so much utility before the teacher, yet he 
stood at the door hesitating. Hulda thought of the 
usual child-fear of the dark. She sprang up with ani¬ 
mation. 

“Do let me go,” she said, “I want to see the lambs.” 

Alex was joyfully relieved, and the two went out 
together across the grasses and clover in the orchard, 
Hulda carrying the lantern, and the boy increasing 
in self-importance at every step. Three little feeble 
lambs were taken from the clover beds and shut un¬ 
der shelter, then the eager boy took his companion 
into the barn, showing her the horses and colts, and 
entertaining her with an unbroken stream of anecdotes 
about the family pets. 

“We’re going to ride Mary and old Block to school,” 
he said, “till Lila and Dick get broke. Can you 
break horses? Millie Bates can.” 

Hulda kept her consciousness of inferiority to her¬ 
self. She had never had an opportunity to learn to 
ride any kind of a horse. But after breakfast the 
next morning, she told Mrs. Woods, and this good 
woman immediately arranged to give her some in¬ 
struction in riding. Abram brought “Mary and old 
Block” up to the porch, the side-saddle was put on 
Mary, and Hulda was mounted by Mr. Woods, with 
many instructions. Mrs. Woods strapped a blanket 
onto “Old Block,” put her foot into her husband’s 
palm, sprang lightly on the horse and started him at 
once down the path and out into the open road. Mary 
followed her mate, and Mrs. Woods stopped to give 
the new rider further instructions. 


CHERRT VALLEY 


III 


They proceeded slowly up the green, level valley, 
across the bottom lands where the grain was thick 
and high, over the shallow creek and up a slope, till 
they came to a little, new, pine school-house set on 
the rocky brow of the hill. They dismounted here, 
and opened the unpainted door, and glanced in at the 
rude furniture and rough walls. But it seemed all 
good and pleasant to the young, ambitious girl. It 
was a situation, and a chance to earn something. So 
she pleased Mrs. Woods by praising everything, and 
they remounted and rode down the hill. 

Mrs. Woods, in turn, praised Hulda’s ability to 
learn to ride so quickly, and when she grew more at 
home in the saddle, they urged the horses to a gallop. 
She was lifted from her saddle at the house by Mr. 
Woods, with many expressions of approval, and the- 
next morning she went off like an old rider on Mary 
with Alex and Trummy on“01d Block”, and the tin 
lunch pails in the horns of the saddles. 

After Mr. Cornman’s full instructions, Hulda was 
at home at once in her little school. The Dorms 
family did not come at first, for the reason, so it was 
rumored, that the new clothes absolutely necessary 
for their appearance in public had not been com¬ 
pleted by their toiling mother. 

So the six “Bateses,” the three “Joneses,” the two 
“Woodses” and several barefooted children, who 
came from different directions over the stony hills, 
constituted the little school, upon which Hulda con¬ 
centrated her mind. Millie Bates was a plump, rosy- 
cheeked girl who took slowly to her books, said “yes, 


112 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GUI CH 


mam” to all questions, and spent much of her time 
looking dreamily from the windows. This young girl, 
whose only social advantages were country dances, 
and whose literature consisted of her school-books 
and the Waverly magazine, was, notwithstanding, 
somewhat in advance of her serious-eyed teacher in 
the experiences that usually make up a young wo¬ 
man’s life. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE RIDE. 

“You just wait till the Dormses come. Won’t we 
have fun then?” said Alex, from behind Trummy, on 
the back of old Block, one afternoon in May, as they 
were riding home from school. 

Hulda smiled; she was not sure that the activity 
whatever it was, would be fun to her. She playfully 
tapped old Block with her whip, and, while the boys 
galloped on ahead, she fell into an uneasy train of 
thought. A month from home, and only one letter 
from her mother. The isolated Cherry Valley people 
did not hear often from the postoffice at Bird’s Flat, 
and Hulda’s one letter had been bare of news. She 
was thinking much these long fair days of her 
mother’s care at home, and the nameless little 
stranger in her arms; so with a sigh of loneliness 
she slid wearily from the gentle Mary, at the kitchen 
porch of the farmhouse. At once Mrs. Woods, with 
flour on her hands and face, ran to bring her a letter. 
With her riding-skirt falling about her feet and stand¬ 
ing against the shoulder of patient Mary, a strangling 
bunch of wild flowers falling to pieces from her throat, 
Hulda bent her flushed face over the single white 
sheet of paper. At once her eyes were fastened on 
113 


David of Juniper Gulch 8 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


”4 

these lines, and she kept reading them over and over: 

“Could you possibly come home for Saturday and 
Sunday? Grandpa Beverly just went by and he said 
Cis would be home to-morrow. You must be here 
to see her.” 

A new shadow of care fell over the girl’s heart. 
The mystery would be explained, but would not the 
cause of her presence in the city have to be explained ? 
That was something she liked less and less to think 
of. Hulda removed the saddle and bridle from Mary, 
who turned at once into the green clover of the or¬ 
chard, and the girl, with a grave face, went into the 
clean, tidy kitchen where Mrs. Woods was kneading 
a mass of white dough. Hulda had learned to tell 
her vexations to this bright, patient woman, and it 
was easy now to tell her that she must be at home 
on Saturday. 

Mrs. Woods knit her brows. “Is it so very seri¬ 
ous?” she said. “We will talk it over at supper. Go 
and rest now, child, you look tired.” 

Mr. Woods also came to the table with knit brows. 
It was fifteen miles to Hardup, and over a mountain 
road. “If you could get to Bird’s Flat by eight 
o’clock Saturday morning,” he said, “you could catch 
a stage, but there is no stage back till Monday. If 
I didn’t have to use the team in the orchard, I’d let 
you have Mary.” 

Mrs. Woods laughed. “Mary! It would take her 
forever. Mary can’t go.” 

“Oh, I know,” cried Alex. “Let her ride Lila. 
Lila’s fast enough.” 


THE RIDE 


115 

“She’d throw the teacher too, fast enough, added 
his father. Hulda’s heart bounded. If she could 
only ride that beautiful pony all the way to Hardup, 
to fly over the hills and mountains, straight to the 
solution of the secret that lay upon her young heart. 
Mrs. Woods saw the sparkle of her eye, and the sud¬ 
den color on her cheek. 

“Maybe Lila’s gentler than we think,” she said to 
her husband. “I might ride her to-night and see.” 

So that evening, in the moonlight, the beautiful 
black Lila was led up to the porch, and the saddle 
adjusted. 

“You see,” said Mr. Woods, as he slowly tightened 
the girth, “I bought her of some stockmen, she may 
have been ridden more than we think. But she goes 
off like a flash; easy as a rocker to ride, but shy as 
a deer. But if you can learn to ride her you’d be 
safe enough.” 

Mrs. Woods came out and threw the riding skirt 
over the saddle. Lila started and looked wildly at 
it; but dropped her head to take a bit of sugar from 
the hand of her mistress. Then Mrs. Woods sprang 
lightly into the saddle, and her husband led the horse 
about the yard. 

“All right,” said Mrs. Woods, after a while, “open 
the gate.” Alex ran and opened the gate, and Lila 
danced out, held with a firm rein by her fearless rider. 

Thursday night Hulda was mounted, and after an 
hour’s training Mr. Woods thought it safe enough 
for her to start away alone on Lila to Hardup. 

“You see,” he said, “you can leave here by four 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Il6 

o’clock Friday, and get within five miles of home by 
night, and you’ll not be afraid to go the rest of the 
way by moonlight.” 

So the rude schoolhouse was locked at three o’clock 
on Friday, and when the teacher reached the farm¬ 
house with the boys, a warm lunch was waiting for 
her, and Lila was fretting at her halter. “Keep cool, 
now,” said Mr. Woods, as he put Hulda in the saddle. 
“Don’t get excited, hold her in, the first mile, if you 
can, then let her go like the wind till she gets tired; 
then you’ll have no trouble.” 

But Hulda was excited as she held Lila’s tossing 
head, and she forgot to say “Good by” to her friends, 
as the horse pranced through the gate, and bounded 
up the g r avelly road. But she settled herself into 
her saddle with a feeling of exultation. It was to be 
her first free, unrestrained horseback ride, and a feel¬ 
ing of freedom hightened her spirits and dispelled 
her fear. One feels a new possession of the heavens 
and earth when mounted on a swift and easy mo¬ 
tioned horse. 

In an hour the quiet, studious teacher of Cherry 
Valley was changed into a glowing spirited creature, 
dashing through the young pines of the divide. Reach¬ 
ing a long, level stretch she began to remember her 
instructions, and reined Lila to a walk. Lila, already 
wet and foaming, dropped her pretty head, and for 
a mile or two went slowly and quietly along the high, 
level divide, Hulda, looking over the hill tops into 
the forest below, and noting the flowers under the 
brush-wood by the road. Then she noticed the 


THE RIDE 


II7 

lengthening shadows, and with a word Lila broke 
into a swift gallop, and her hoof beats on the hard 
road sounded clearly through the quiet woods. 

It was all a delight to Hulda; she had no thought 
of fear or loneliness. She would like to have such a 
ride every day on Lila. She had a wild, undefined 
feeling that it would be better to ride on and on over 
the great Sierras, and far away, than to go on with 
the conditions of her life. But it was but a moment¬ 
ary vision of fear. Home was sweet and life was 
precious. 

After a while she began to descend, and the pines 
stood taller and closer, and shapeless masses of rock 
stood up about her. After winding around the slopes 
she came suddenly to a point, and descended a 
graded road on the mountain side. 

She was startled a moment to notice how long the 
shadows were, but the sunlight still lay bright and 
broad on the other side of the canon. 

The solitude of the canon impressed her, as Lila 
dropped into a rapid walk down the grade. There 
was no sound of wind, or call of bird, and even the 
squirrels had disappeared from the gathering shadows. 
A path came into the road from a depression or valley 
in the mountain side. She knew that these trails 
led into other roads, out to some settler’s lonely 
cabin, or up to some red, yawning deserted shaft. 
A longing of her childhood came to her to know what 
was at the end of the trail, but there was no time for 
prospecting, so she hurried Lila, and presently they 
were at the turn at the bottom of the grade. Here 


Il8 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

a little stream of water ran into a log trough, then 
formed a poo) in the road, and went over the bank 
into the ferns below. But there was something 
about the trough that displeased Lila, perhaps the 
scent of some wild beast of the forest; any way she 
shied suddenly, and stood on the edge of the rock wall 
that supported the road. Hulda whirled her back to 
a place of safety, but Lila was sure there was some¬ 
thing uncanny about the trough, and refused to ap¬ 
proach it. 

Yet she was thirsty and decided to reach for a little 
quiet pool of water down among the rocks. It was a 
long stretch for her neck, and finally, with a little jerk, 
the rein parted in Hulda’s hand, the ends falling on 
either side into the water. Before the inexperienced 
rider had time to move, Lila, frightened at the dang¬ 
ling reins, sprang back, turned and started on the 
road home in a wild run. Her rider, now equally 
frightened, leaned forward and clung to Lila’s mane, 
helplessly. Lila became more excited, running faster, 
and then Hulda saw that her saddle was loose, and 
she knew her balance was not good. She thought 
of jumping in some way, if she could only free her 
foot from the stirrup. She was trying to catch her 
reins, and she kept her mind sufficiently, to decide, 
that if she could not catch them, that she would 
jump, where the trail came into the road. There 
might be a house near there. She saw the spot ahead 
where she had decided to jump, and in trying to free 
her foot, she felt her saddle turn under her. The 
picture of her awful peril flashed across her mind. 


THE RIDE 


II 9 

Just at that moment a large, white horse, bearing 
an erect rider came out of the tree-shaded trail to the 
road. The rider was on his feet in a moment. He 
had just time to catch Lila’s flying reins, to regain 
his feet, and catch Hulda in his arms, as the saddle 
turned under her. Momentarily stunned by her fright, 
Hulda opened her eyes and looked up at the calm, 
smiling face of Edward La Grange. 

“There, I knew you had better sense than to faint,” 
said this calm young man. “Now just steady your¬ 
self a moment while I get your foot out of that trap. 
What are you riding this kind of a horse without a 
stirrup-slipper for? There don’t tremble so, girl, sit 
down on the bank and catch your breath while I tie 
the horse.” 

“Oh, I am so glad you came,” stammered the girl 
as she sat down on the bank and leaned against a 
tree. She was ve/y weak. 

“Well, I think so. You might have escaped with 
a broken ankle, you might have not escaped at all.” 
He was adjusting Lila’s saddle, and tying her by the 
halter to a slender tree. Then he picked up Hulda’s 
fallen hat and sat down by her. She was pinning 
up her disordered braids. 

“Now,” he said, “there is a house only a quarter 
of a. mile up this trail, and if you need anything I will 
take you up there. Perhaps all you need is a rest.” 

She looked gratefully at him. 

“Yes, I am only frightened. But oh, Mr. La 
Grange, what can I say to you.” He stopped her by 
a warm clasp over her cold, trembling hand. 


120 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Don’t say anything. Get you a slipper before 
you ride again, and be sure and keep your saddle 
girth tight. Where are you going any way, you are 
a long way from Cherry Creek.” 

Hulda started up in alarm. 

“Why, I am going to Hardup. I must hurry. See 
how late it is getting. O, dear, can I ever get on 
that horse again?” 

La Grange laughed. 

“You will have to get on that horse again, if you 
don’t want to spoil her. You will have to rest till 
you are over your fright. Just take it cool. I will 
go a ways with you. I am breaking horses for one of 
my trustees, and I can ride this horse all night if I 
want to ” Hulda went and patted Lila's neck. She 
was grateful, though she knew not how to say so. 

“You see,” went La Grange, “I have a good many 
trades, as I told you. Bird’s Flat, where I teach, is 
only seven miles from here. I shall get home soon 
enough. By the-way, if you feel like it, suppose you 
tell me how your horse got frightened.” 

Hulda, her arm over Lila’s neck told her story, 
while she looked at La Grange sitting at ease on the 
bank, twirling his whip, his dark hair thrown back in 
shining waves, his strong face in relief against the 
green foliage of the bank. Something came to her 
that was new in her young life. A conciousness of 
happiness in the present moment. Her gratitude to 
La Grange was mingled with a sense of trust and 
restfulness in his presence. Further than that, al¬ 
though an unusually intellectual girl, she could not 



Hulda has a narrow escape. 


David of. Juniper Gulch. 






THE RIDE 


1 2 I 


analyze her sensations. She did not know that an 
impression was then stamped upon her heart, that 
would never wear away. 

We seldom come to Love’s estate gradually; it is 
more like a sudden sunrise that shows us a fair and 
delightful land, and though we may never enter into 
that land, yet the warmth of the sunlight never passes 
away. And Hulda, in her innocence, opened her 
heart to the sweetness and light, and the lonely forest 
seemed suddenly fair and cheerful. Her existence, 
that had always seemed to be looking forward to 
something, seemed to be plethoric with present con¬ 
tent, but she did not know why. 

La Grange came and petted Lila and praised her 
beauty, then he led her up to the bank and mounted 
Hulda without allowing her a moment’s hesitation. 
Hulda was reassured by his composure. He sprang 
onto his horse, and they galloped down the grade 
and up on the other side. 

The sun was just taking his last touches from the 
tops of the pines. Oh, the gladness and gayety of that 
ride, and the wild beauty of the night! The light 
words and bits and laughter mingled musically with 
the clattering of the hoof beats on the hard road. 

Then the horses* dropped to a walk and fretted 
their heads against the firmly held bridles. The 
moon was gleaming down the road, as they came to 
the top of the grade. The feeling of friendliness be¬ 
tween the two young people grew as they watered 
their horses at a farmer’s road-side well. After that, 
houses and small orchards appeared more often, and 


122 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


they were nearing the saucer-like country where lay 
the town of Hardup. 

La Grange drew rein, as they came around the 
point of a hill, and they could see the humble roofs 
of Hardup, among the trees. 

“Now, good night,” he said. “Be sure and have 
your saddle all right when you start Sunday. I hope 
we will meet again.” He extended his hand from 
the saddle. “I have enjoyed my ride. Goodnight.” 

She had only time to say “Good night” over his 
hand, and he was gone, and as she rode on the 
dream light on her girl’s heart was as changefully be¬ 
witching as the full, glamourous moonlight on the little 
sleeping valley. 

Lila and her rider came swiftly down the slope, 
over the creek, through the quiet streets and up to 
the little house where two lights awaited her home 
coming,—one in the west bedroom where her mother 
sat, the other in the upper front gable, where Joseph 
Cornman sat listening for some sound announcing the 
expected daughter of the house. But he was listen¬ 
ing for wagon wheels; so Hulda tied her horse, and 
came around to the back door and into her mother’s 
room. Her mother came and kissed her quietly with¬ 
out emotion. It was not her way to make any ex¬ 
citement over anything. 

“You are late, Hulda,” she said, how did you 
come? I thought you ought to be here, if you could. 
But, my! how you have changed! Teaching does 
you good, daughter.” 

Hulda threw off her hat and gloves. She laughed, 
glowing with health and vigor. 


THE RIDE 


123 


“Everything does me good, mother. O, I am so 
hungry! What am I going to do with my horse?” 

The Hardup teacher had come softly to the door, 
ana heard her last words. He offered to take her 
horse to the livery stable. Hulda went out with him. 
She loved Lila, and she almost hated to have a 
stranger touch her; she gave her reluctantly to Mr. 
Cornman, who thought her altogether too gay a 
horse for an amateur rider; then the girl ran into 
the house, glad to be alone with her mother. 

“Have you seen Cis? . Has she taken Nonie?” was 
her first eager question. 

“I saw her at the postoffice a moment yesterday,” 
said the mother. “I drew her to one side and told 
her the baby was well, but she looked at me wild, 
and said, ‘Your cousin’s baby, I suppose. I heard 
about it.’ Then I said, ‘Hulda will be home Satur¬ 
day.’ ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘then I’ll be over early to see 
her. ’” 

“Well, well!” ejaculated Hulda. “How did she 
look, mother?” 

“Very pretty and nice, and she behaves well. 
Hush, now! he might be back and hear us. Come, 
let me get you something to eat, daughter, it’s nine 
o’clock.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


CIS BEVERLY. 

Hulda awoke the next morning fom a dull, dream¬ 
less state with a premonition of evil on her heart. 
Yet when she had roused herself, the image of La 
Grange came before her eyes, and she sprang out of 
her low, old fashioned bed, so close to the roof, with 
a sudden flush on her cheek. Life was somehow 
growing brighter and dearer. Then she thought of the 
Hardup people. She would be proud to show then! 
how dignified and mature she had grown. Then she 
thought of the pines, and all at once, a run through 
the orchard and a dash into the woods, seemed the 
sweetest thing in life. She crept downstairs quietly, 
and went out into the starry morning twilight. 

The grass was long and thick in the orchard, for 
her mother had not tended to the plowing. She 
parted the low, odorous boughs and went into the 
pine thicket. She was a dull, bashful, dreamless girl, 
when she had shaken the light snow from these boughs 
in the past winter, and now she was so spirited and 
full of thought. She loved the wood with a new 
affection. She was not alone there—there was a 
thrill at her heart, a touch on her hand; and the 
vision of an erect head, a proud bearing and a fear- 
124 


CIS BEVERLY 


125 


less eye, haunted her closer. Then she smiled over 
her silly fancy, dashed under the pines and sought 
the long path where she used to love to wake the 
birds from their morning slumbers. 

Mrs. Hardy was starting the fire in the kitchen, 
when Hulda came bounding in, fresh and bright, and 
ready to help carry the household burdens of the day. 

Mr. Cornman came to breakfast in his Sunday coat 
instead of the usual threadbare dressing-gown. This 
attempt to be pleasing had a benumbing effect on the 
young school-mistress, but after a time she brightened 
up with an effort, and answered his many questions 
about her school. This interest seemed to her to be 
half sarcasm but after all, his help had been valuable 
to her, and she tried to be patient. He lingered at 
the table and watched the girl with a manner of deep 
and quiet calculation. Afterwards he went out in the 
town. 

Mrs. Hardy shut herself in her room with Nonie and 
her sewing, and Hulda tied on an apron and swiftly 
placed the little sitting-room in order; then she 
washed the dishes, and turned her attention to the 
making of a cake, that would be needed, incase, she 
thought, should any one call. The old cat purred 
about her feet, the linnets and chickadee-birds in the 
orchard kept up a merry twittering. A peach tree by 
the window thrust its branches through the lifted 
sash, its twigs heavy with downy, green, little peaches. 

Hulda beat the mixture as faithfully as she had seen 
her mother do it, then having toned the oven to just 
the right heat, she closed the iron door on the cake. 


126 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


She snatched the broom to sweep, in the interval 
of waiting, when she heard a little tapping on the 
front door, a rush of light feet, and a rustling of 
skirts through the hall and dining-room; the door 
opened and two perfumed arms were swung around 
her neck, and Cis Beverly kissed her on the lips and 
shook her hands, with the warmest and sweetest of 
greetings. She wore a neat, black costume, a stylish 
jacket, a cap glistening with black beads, and her 
yellow hair cut short, curled all over her head and 
around her face. 

“Oh, you dear old girl!” she cried. “What a grand 
young lady you’ve got to be. Oh, what a long time 
it’s been since I saw you! Speak to me; aren’t you 
glad to see me? I came over just as soon as I could 
this morning.” 

Hulda stood looking at her stupidly. Was this 
the girl who had been secretly married, and had 
heartlessly flung her secret and her child onto her for 
safe keeping? She looked so pretty and winning, so 
innocent of any trouble or deceit. But Hulda’s first 
and only thought was that she had come to explain 
everything and claim the child; so she began to speak 
at once of the mystery that had been such a care to 
her honest heart. 

“Why, yes, Cis, I am glad to see you. Haven’t 
I been looking for a letter from you every day this 
year? But that was a queer way to do, Cis, to push 
the baby off on me without my consent. Why 
didn’t you come to see me? I would have kept 
your sceret. It was just terrible to get home alone 


CIS BEVERLY 


127 


with that baby, and not know anything about it, and 
have to tell a lie to everybody to fix it up. O, I am 
so glad you have come at last! Come in the bed¬ 
room where mother is. Aren’t you dying to see poor 
little Nonie?” 

Cis had dropped into a chair and sat looking up 
at her with wide, dilated, blue eyes, and a paling 
face. Cis had recovered from her misfortune as best 
she could, after discovering the base character of 
Max Royse. She had been a deceived girl, not a 
bad one, and when she found that all traces had been 
so carefully covered up for her in San Francisco, 
she had resolved to hide her mishap, and go on as if 
nothing had happened. She had called on Mrs. Ellis 
and begged to know the truth about the child. Mrs. 
Ellis, having no doubt but that Max had rescued the 
baby from the country girl, and placed it in some In¬ 
fant Home, told Cis what she supposed to be the 
truth, and gave her soom practical advice. 

“Don’t try to find the baby,” she had said. “There 
is no one to tell your sceret. Go to your home if you 
have one, and live a virtuous life, that is the best, 
after all.” 

And this Cis had concluded to do. She found a 
place in a store, and staid long enough to earn money 
to go home in good style. She had regained her 
health and spirits, and knowing the value of a home 
with her own people, she resolved to be happy and 
useful. And now to have her old friend meet her 
with this strange account of a baby called Nonie, 
and to be calling it hers was a catastrophe she had 
not anticipated. 


128 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


But she had had enough experience with the world, 
to think fast and well while Hulda was speaking. She 
resolved to find out all that Hulda knew before com¬ 
mitting herself in any way. She sat looking dumbly 
at her friend, while _ Hulda was waiting for her to 
reply. 

Hulda went up to her and placed her hand gently 
on her shoulder. 

“Cis, dear, what is it? Are you in trouble ? Come, 
tell me all about it. You know, I know nothing 
about it now. I will help you. I have helped you, 
and I will again.” 

Hulda had exposed the weakness of her position, 
and the more worldly-wise woman, saw it in an in¬ 
stant. She shrank back and assumed a cold, ag¬ 
grieved tone. 

“Well, I am sure I don’t know what you are talking 
about. For goodness sake, explain yourself. Whose 
baby? I’m not in any trouble? What do you 
mean?” She raised her head defiantly and looked 
at her astonished friend. 

Hulda felt a sinking of her strength, and a flutter¬ 
ing of her heart, but she made another strategic error, 
and resolved to explain her story explicitly. She 
shut and locked the kitchen doors, and then came and 
stood by the stony, silent girl, and in trembling tones, 
told how she had come in possession of the child they 
had called Nonie Graham. 

She told of her own awkward adventure, for she 
instinctively felt that Cis would not betray her con¬ 
fidence, which was a correct supposition in any case. 


CIS BEVERLY 


129 


Cis listened to it all, with the same stony stare, 
but with her mind keenly active. It was all very 
clear to her. Mrs. Ellis had made some mistake 
and then simply lied her way out of it. As for 
Hulda, she ought not to have opened the basket; no 
smart girl would have done it, and she felt no pity for 
her. But she saw that Hulda’s remarkable discre¬ 
tion in inventing a parentage for the child was another 
loop hole of escape for her. She saw, too, that Hulda 
could not betray her without revealing her own fool¬ 
ish and hazardous adventure. 

Before Hulda had finished telling her story slowly 
and painfully, Cis had laid her plan and gathered 
sufficient presence of mind to carry it out. 

“And now,” said Hulda, when she had finished, 
“come and see the baby.” She led the way to the 
bedroom, and Cis followed, smiling composedly. 
Pale, delicate Nonie lay on the bed, and Mrs. Hardy 
sat sewing by the window. She rose and kissed Cis 
cordially; Cis responded quietly, then stood at the 
foot of the bed looking fixedly at the child. 

“Do you recognize your baby?” said Mrs. Hardy. 
“I suppose now you have come to tell us all about it. 
We have guarded your secret perfectly.” 

Cis threw up her hands with a wild, aggrieved 
look. “I am sure I don’t know anything about it,” 
she cried. “That isn’t my baby. How dare you say 
that I have had a baby? You ought to be arrested 
for slander.” 

Mother and daughter looked at each other with 
paling, horrified faces. Mrs. Hardy recovered herself 

David of Juniper Gulch 9 


130 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


first. “Hulda,” she said calmly, “get those things, 
the chain and note.” 

Hulda went to the closet and brought out a bundle 
and unrolled it before the unabashed young woman. 
There was the little dress made of the familiar mus¬ 
lin, the frail gold chain that was so well known to 
each of them, and the writing on the paper, “Take 
good care of my baby. I have named her Nonie. I 
will come and claim her soon.” Cis glanced at the 
articles, then snatched the chain, with a well affected 
exclamation of surprise. 

“Why, that is my chain! Why, upon my word I 
gave it to Jenny Jones, the girl that roomed with me 
on Eddy Street. And I gave her my old dress too. 
Well, well, I just bet Jennie Jones is at the bottom 
of this whole thing. I thought something was wrong 
with her then. 

Hulda lifted up the shawl. “Yes, Jennie too that, 
too,” continued Cis. Hulda placed before her eyes 
the bit of paper. Cis took it in her hand and ex¬ 
amined it closely. “That’s Jennie’s handwriting,” 
she said. Then she turned to Mrs. Hardy with a well 
simulated light laugh. 

“Well, you’re funny folks to lay this on me. But 
I can’t blame you. It did look like it. You was 
good to bring it home, Hulda, thinking it was for 
me, but I guess you’ll have to keep it now, for Jennie 
Jones is too smart for anything. She used all my 
things on purpose.” Then she started to go out of 
the room, and after hesitating a moment, turned 
back. 


CIS BEVERLY 


131 

“For goodness sake, you’d better not tell this thing. 
People will lay it all on Hulda. I’m sorry I can’t 
help you any. ” 

She went out in the dining-room and sat down by 
the table drumming on it nervously with her fingers. 
Hulda stood dumbly looking at her mother, who sat 
silent, her eyes full of tears. She thought her mother 
was weeping over her blunder and its consequences to 
them. Cis was doubtless ignorant of it all, and she 
had done a foolish thing for a good deed. She went 
out and looked at Cis. 

“But we have said it is our cousin’s child,” she 
stammered. 

“Never mind, Hulda,” Cis said, “I’ll write down 
and see if I can find Jennie Jones. I can make her 
pay you some money.” 

Cis went out to the front door making other re¬ 
marks to strengthen her case, and departed, confident 
that all was safe. 

“Don’t cry, mother,” said Hulda, going back. 
“We’ll keep the poor little thing.” 

“It isn’t that, Hulda,” said the mother, “Cis is 
deceiving us all through. Don’t you see she is per¬ 
fectly hardened, and made up all that about Jennie 
Jones. It is dreadful. It will break her poor old 
grandmother’s heart.” 

“No, it won’t, mother,” said Hulda firmly, after a 
moment’s thought. 

“Why?” 

“Because we’ll go on and keep the secret just as 
we have. It won’t do to murder poor grandma, to 


132 


DAVID. OF JUNIPER GULCH 


punish Cis. Beside, mother, don’t you see we have 
told it is our cousin’s baby, and we can’t get out of 
that now without other proof. Some day we’ll have 
to imagine a cousin’s husband to come and take it 
away.” 

She ran suddenly out of the room, and then back 
with a smoking object in her hand. 

“Mother,” she cried, “the cake is burned to a cinder. 
Come, let’s make another. Mr. Corman’s coming 
and it’s nearly lunch time.” 

Somehow Hulda’s heart was more buoyant than 
usual, and life, though disappointing, was glad and 
full of things worth living for. 


CHAPTER XII. 


DAVID’S BET. 

The same day David Strong had come jogging 
down a canon trail on a fat and gentle old mule. 
He had been prospecting since the open weather of 
spring, and had struck a little rich dirt at last in a 
rough, isolated place he called Juniper Gulch, and as 
long as the mountain stream ran freely, he had re¬ 
mained there, camping in a little shake cabin, and 
washing out the gold in his pan. He had seen no 
one for a month, save a few Chinamen who had come 
by, one day “Indian file,” looking out for new or 
deserted diggings. He had come out of his little 
cabin determined to ward off unwelcome observers. 

“No catchee him, John,” he had said. “No get him 
gold. All same starve. I get him old horse, I go 
home.” 

The Chinese passed on and David had fried his 
bacon and hoarded his dust in solitude. Not that 
he liked the solitude, but he liked the gold, and his 
congenial friends at Hardup would probably learn of 
his secret only too soon. Like any roving prospect¬ 
or he liked to tell of his luck to his luck’s detriment, 
but this time he had resolved to take out what gold 
he could for his summer’s use and keep his secret 
and his claim. 


183 


134 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


The water had now given out, and he was going 
into Hardup to enjoy his gains. He had burned his 
cabin, hidden his utensils, and caught up his old 
mule. There were many children near his home on 
a hill at Hardup, who always knew by sundry gifts 
when David had made a strike. 

The good minister also, of the weather-beaten 
Methodist Church, had had occasion to pray more 
fervently than usual for the spiritual welfare of young 
Strong, on account of the parcels of groceries that 
usually appeared on his porch about the times of 
David’s returns. Also poor old grandpa Beverly, 
whose memory had become unreliable, was forced 
occasionally to accept twenty dollars from David, 
who would protest that he had never finished paying 
for the mule, which he had purchased of the old man 
years before. 

And so David was meditating, as to how he would 
bring about these little pleasantries, as he rode 
through the rocky ravines and gullies, into the saucer¬ 
like valley surrounding the town of Hardup. But he 
expected to go to the Hardy cottage first of all, as 
soon as he had changed his clothes, and deposited 
his dust at the express office. The Hardys were 
more like relatives to him, than any one he knew. 
He liked to think of them as being his own mother 
and sister. But he had never thought of Hulda as 
one he would like to marry. This self-willed inde¬ 
pendent girl pleased and amused him, but her rather 
heroic qualities did not appeal to the romantic in his 
nature. Had she lost her eyesight, or met with some 


david's bet 


i35 


other great personal misfortune, making her utterly 
dependent on others, then his generous heart might 
have been led to expend its manly love upon her. 
But it humored his whim that people should think 
that he wanted to marry her. He did not care how 
often he was seen at the Hardy cottage. 

This time with his pockets bulging out with oranges, 
he vaulted over the orchard fence, and tapped at the 
back door of the Hardy cottage. 

“Oh, why, David, is that you? How do you do?” 
cried Hulda, coming out, drawing the door close be¬ 
hind her, and giving him both her warm hands. 

“Thank you, and how’s yourself,” answered David. 
“What a glorious skule mam you do make, any way. 

I do believe you’re growing handsome.” 

“Hush, David, do be still. There’s a lot of women 
here now—callers. What did you come in the day 
time for?” 

“How did I know you was here,” said David coolly, 
“I came to see your mother.” 

“Of course you knew I was home. You heard it 
in town,” persisted the girl, “but did you hear that 
Cis was home?” 

But this did not seem to be news of great import¬ 
ance to David. 

“Is that so?” he said. 

“Now go away,” said Hulda, “come to supper at 
half past five. The teacher won’t be home till late 
in the evening, he’s gone somewhere in the country. 
Mother thinks he is trying to get on the County 
Board.” 


136 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Good for Corn,” laughed David. “That’s busi¬ 
ness.” He then unloaded his pockets into Hulda’s 
apron and vaulted again over the fence. 

The last gossiper and well-wisher had gone, only 
in time for Hulda to say a few words to her mother 
alone, when David appeared. 

“Now mother,” she had said, “don’t say a word to 
Dave about Cis either for or against her. If he 
thinks we don’t like her, he will take up for her, 
manlike, you know. We mustn’t let him marry her, 
if we can help it. Let him naturally forget her if he 
will.” 

And to all appearances he had forgotten her. 

After tea the dishes were washed and put away 
with the talk and laughter usual when David was 
around, and the two young people went out to enjoy 
the fair, warm, moonlight evening in the grassy lane 
in front of the house yard. For an hour and more 
they walked back and forth, some passing friend 
occasionally stopping to speak with them. One way, 
lay the quiet town, scattered over several low hills; 
the other way, at the lane’s end, was the old brown 
school house, and seemingly from all around the 
town came the merry voices of children at play in 
the moonlight. 

Finally Hulda remembered that she was tired and 
needed a full night’s rest. David was going, but he 
turned back, and made a gesture towards the di¬ 
rection of the Beverly farm. “Did she say anything 
about me?” 

“Who, Dave?” 


dave’s bet 


137 


“Her—Cis.” 

“Say ‘she,’ Dave, ‘her’ is wrong.” 

“Well, Miss Beverly, then.” 

“I didn’t give her any chance, Dave. I did all the 
talking. Bring Lila at one to-morrow, as you promised. 
I must start early. I’d let you ride a ways with me, 
if it wasn’t for that mule of yours.” 

“Ho!” cried David. “Do you suppose my mule 
would be seen with that mustang of yourn?” 

“Say ‘yours, ’” called Hulda. But David, whistling 
loudly, was nearly out of sight. 

Meanwhile Joseph Cornman had returned, and had 
sat in the gable window above, apparently writing, 
but in reality listening to the murmur of the voices in 
front. On his table lay a bundle of letters from a 
woman in his native Eastern state, with whom he 
had corresponded ever since he had come to Cali¬ 
fornia. He had been looking over the letters. He 
knew what the correspondence, although dispassion¬ 
ately conducted, meant to the woman in the East, 
but he had about concluded to terminate that corre¬ 
spondence. 

The years had done a great deal to remove the 
image of his correspondent from his mind. He knew 
her to be a cultivated woman. He knew that she 
wrote stories for domestic papers, but that art or 
talent left much to be desired in the practical consid¬ 
erations now before his mind. 

With a Californian wife, a successful school-teacher, 
and a favorite in the county, he might the sooner 
obtain the coveted seat in the County Superintend- 


138 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

ent’s chair. To introduce a stranger to the slow ap¬ 
preciation of these old mining communities, meant 
delay. The people here liked their own, and they 
favored their own. The children of the eldest set¬ 
tlers were their wards, besides there was the home¬ 
stead and some money that Hulda would some time 
inherit, while Aurelia Hawthorne Stalker had nothing. 

So Joseph Cornman was vastly annoyed that David 
should monopolize all the evening’s time of the 
Cherry Valley school-teacher. But he nervously 
bided his time. He had so recently come into pos¬ 
session of a definite desire, that he had not acquired 
a sense of jealousy. 

Of Hulda’s ready acquiescence in his plan he had 
no doubt; and after the engagement was arranged 
he would then speedily put an end to this familiarity 
with illiterate fellows like Strong. 

He had no recognition of the fact that David’s 
planning had made the girl popular in town, and that 
the good will of the townspeople had led him to his 
present appreciation of the widow’s daughter. 

Hulda rose early the next morning to have a little 
while with the roses in the front yard, for after 
breakfast would be church, and after church, Lila 
and the road. 

She braided her heavy hair in a long, shining braid 
that hung to her waist, put on a fresh, crisply starched 
calico dress, and with a pair of scissors in her hand 
she went about among the tall thick bushes, hanging 
heavily with roses. A little, yellow, briar rose grew 
in the corner, and as she turned from a task of tying 


dave’s bet 


139 


it up to the fence, she saw the tall form of the Hardup 
teacher standing beside her. He had come so si¬ 
lently, and looked so grave, that she felt suddenly 
unnerved. 

“This is an occupation that suits your blooming 
cheeks, Miss Hardy.” Hulda was horrified. The 
remark coming from him sounded incongruous. Was 
the man who had taught her so well how to explain 
cube root, going mad? She allowed a nervous—“O 
thank you,” to escape her lips. 

Having delivered himself of this studiously correct 
compliment, the teacher continued slowly, looking 
directly at her: “I wish to say a few words to you 
before your return, Miss Hulda.” She muttered a 
feeble “Yes,” and her persecutor smiled at her with 
satisfaction, as he noted the color deepening on her 
cheeks. She shrank back against the briar rose-bush 
in the corner, and waited mutely. 

“I think I know of a splendid opening for you, 
Miss Hardy, one that will suit you very well.” 

“Indeed!” she exclaimed, really surprised. 

“Wouldn’t you like a nice position?” 

“I suppose so,” said the girl. 

“They are going to grade this school next term, 
and have two rooms. They will want a primary 
teacher. Now if you would like the place as my 
assistant—” 

“But, Oh,” cried Hulda, “the people here think I 
am too young, a mere girl. Besides, the trustees 
here are against women teachers.” 

Mr. Cornman hesitated, then placing his cold fin- 


140 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


gers on her ruddy wrist that embraced her bundle of 
roses, he said slowly looking solemnly into her face. 

“As my wife, you could get it.” 

The girl’s exclamation of surprise was like a stifled 
scream, and the thorny bush clasped her ankles as 
she drew away her wrist and let some of her roses 
fall. She dropped her head, overcome with shame 
and confusion. Her suitor was then sure of his case. 

“Don’t you want the place?” he asked softly. 

“Oh, sir,” said the girl looking down, and not wish¬ 
ing to offend one who had been so really kind to her, 
“I can’t be your wife. I am too young. I never 
thought of it before.” 

Mr. Cornman went on with firm and gentle insist¬ 
ence. 

“I did not expect you to think of it before. We 
can arrange it now.” 

The suffering girl was literally cornered. She must 
refuse, yet she had not the courage to offend. Her 
eyes filled with tears of vexation, and her cheeks 
flamed. 

“Ah, this is what I thought—you love me,” said 
the Hardup teacher. 

She looked up angry now. “Sir,” she cried, “in¬ 
deed I do not. Please, Mr. Cornman, I can’t marry 
you. Let me go.” 

But he only smiled strangely, took her arm and 
led her out into the path. 

“I will let you go,” he said, “you are excited. You 
are a little too young, now. But you will change, 
and change your mind too. Then you will let me 
know, and we will arrange it.” 


DAVE* S BET 


I 4 I 

He went away as silently as he had come, and 
mounted the stairs to his room, while Hulda stood 
stupefied in the garden. The muslin curtain at the 
parlor window moved away. There sat David, mak¬ 
ing odd gestures at her, his face convulsed with re¬ 
strained laughter. 

He had come in early to beg for breakfast, just in 
time to witness the little comedy. David had won 
his bet, and the fun he made of her all the morning 
helped her to control her genuine distress and vex¬ 
ation. 

David went to church with her, a fact that every 
one in Hardup remembered and made much of after¬ 
wards. 

Then he brought Lila from the stable and rode her 
a turn or two around the schoolhouse before Hulda 
mounted. The girl went galloping swiftly up the 
long gravelly slope, with a feeling of relief and glad¬ 
ness. The woods, the flowers, and the sweet scented 
air were better than her perplexing thoughts, and no 
mountain wind could burn her cheeks, as had the 
premature proposal of Joseph Cornman. But she 
was happy now on Lila, and she went rapidly down 
the mountain side to the trough at the bend in the 
road with no thought whatever, that Lila was likely 
to frighten again at the same object. 

La Grange had forgotten to caution her in regard 
to that, and for this reason, he had no difficulty in 
persuading himself that he ought to go down and see 
her safely past the dangerous spot. It would be but 
a seven mile gallop for him, and another runaway 


142 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


would spoil Lila, and forever intimidate the rider. 
And so Hulda met him coming up the grade to meet 
her, and he gave a frank explanation of his reason 
for coming. The Bird’s Flat school-teacher was so 
accustomed to horseback riding, that it was for him 
but a simple courtesy. He acknowledged to himself 
that he came also because he liked to talk to the girl. 
Miss Hardy was by far the most originally interesting 
young woman he knew. There were several young 
ladies in the county who had been to Oakland for 
seminary educations, who were quite glad to receive 
attentions from Edward La Grange. But beyond 
gaining their good will, he had had no time to de¬ 
vote himself to them. Now he was honestly inter¬ 
ested in this unsophisticated girl, whom he hoped 
would become one of the best teachers in the county, 
in which he desired to have a strong political footing, 
so practically did he look forward to his future years. 

He had even put in motion a chain of events, that 
had caused the Cherry Valley trustees to hear favor¬ 
ably of Miss Hardy. As the two proceeded down 
the grade Hulda’s tired face grew bright. It seemed 
so natural and appropriate that he should be there. 
She forgot her cares and grew happy under his gentle 
and skillful, though rather domineering influence. 
She told him all about her little school, and about 
the Dorms family, who were to enter with a bad rep¬ 
utation for restraint of any kind, and a trained antip¬ 
athy for all the rest of the children. 

La Grange laughed heartily, and gave her some 
good advice. He also said he would come over on 


dave’s bet 


143 


the first leisure Saturday, and help her over any little 
perplexity that might be present. 

They walked their horses up the grade, and through 
the thick bushes on the long divide. Once they 
stopped, and La Grange sprang from his horse to 
gather her a handful of Mariposa lilies. They were 
in sight of Cherry Valley, when he drew rein and 
said he would go back. 

“You will be home by sunset,” he said. “Give 
Lila the rein and let her go. Go to bed early and 
rest. I think you must have had a busy vacation; 
any way, you have had two hard rides.” 

He dismounted and came and stood beside her 
while he took her hand in parting. Then he lifted 
his hat courteously while she smiled her goodby and 
thanks. Lila shook her head free and bounded 
away, more anxious to be home than her weary rider 
was to leave such a pleasant loitering among the 
long shadows of the forest. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE “BATESES AND THE DORMSES.” 

“The Dormses is cornin’ to-day. The shirts is 
done,” cried Alex at the breakfast-table, Monday 
morning. The teacher became aware of it when she 
arrived at the schoolhouse on old Block, with the 
youngest Woods behind her. The Dorms family 
were arrayed in a silent row in the shade by the side 
of the school building, their tin lunch-pails and books 
in an orderly arrangement on the ground. Buck 
Dorms, nearly six feet in height, and two small 
boys, wore new blue overalls, and bright blue ging¬ 
ham shirts, and three pairs of new pink suspenders 
held up the essentials of the masculine Dormses. 

The two girls wore pink calico dresses, and sun- 
bonnets of the same material. 

Buck Dorms leaned against the side of the house, 
and looked silently and stolidly away to the west. 

The young teacher put away her things and went 
to speak to them. She succeeded in getting Buck 
to give her his hand to shake, but the smaller boys 
dropped their heads and nervously twisted their bare 
toes in the sand. She peeked into the pink sunbon- 
nets, and saw two dark little faces with bright black 
eyes, but the whole family seemed to be mute. As 
144 


THE “BATESES AND THE DORMSES 1 


Hulda moved away in despair, one of the girls pulled 
her dress. 

“Teacher,” she said, “Pap sent word for you not 
to have us sit with any of the Bateses.” 

The teacher smiled a gracious assent to these di¬ 
rections, and the five Dormses brightened up at once, 
and reached for their pails and books to be ready 
to enter the house. 

Hulda gave her entire attention to seating the 
Dorms family, where there would be the least dan¬ 
ger of hostilities. 

Buck was given a seat by himself in the back of 
the room on the left, the width of the house between 
him and Millie Bates, who occupied the correspond¬ 
ing seat on the other side. The two smaller boys 
were by themselves, and the little pink girls were 
under the teacher’s eye in front, with not a Bates in 
sight of them. 

The oldest Dorms had but two books, an arithmetic 
and a manual of book-keeping. He announced that 
they were all he wished to study. His father, it 
seems, had decided that he should not waste his 
time on grammar, and other trilling studies designed 
especially for girls. Hulda, however, after some 
days of adroit managing, succeeded in persuading 
him to read an American history and to copy and 
read a little from the readers and geographies. He 
said he was too big to recite, but Hulda found that 
he really acquired a great deal of information in his 
own way from the books she placed in his hands. 

Millie Bates was also an unclassified pupil but it 

David of juniper Gulch 10 


146 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


was even more difficult to find out what she was 
learning than to sound the stolid Dorms. 

Millie was perfectly willing and obedient, and never 
refused to attempt to study or recite. But the sem¬ 
blance of study seemed to be her best achievement. 
She was never impatient and smiled sweetly over all 
her failures. She advanced steadily page by page, 
and covered all the ground, but what she really re¬ 
membered her gentle teacher never knew. But she 
did know that Millie appreciated and loved her. 

Mrs. Bates had a local fame as cook, and Millie, 
having an aptitude also in that direction, had ac¬ 
quired considerable proficiency in this domestic art 
and, every Monday morning she would bring her 
teacher a slice of some delicious*cake; the best tes¬ 
timonial she was able to offer, as an acknowledg¬ 
ment of her appreciation. 

Millie had large blue eyes and pink cheeks. She 
combed her light hair in handsome coils, and as girls 
were classified in those parts, she was esteemed 
rather pretty. 

For the first week there seemed to be no sign of 
trouble between the Dorms and Bates factions. 
Quiet reigned. On the second Monday the Dorms 
family again came into prominence by appearing in 
new colors. The boys wore pink shirts this time, 
and the girls blue dresses and sunbonnets. 

Soon after the morning session opened Buck Dorms 
dropped his book upon the desk with a loud bang, 
reached for his hat and suddenly left the room. His 
watchful teacher followed him to the porch with., an 
expression of simple curiosity on her face.’ 


THE *‘BATESES AND THE DORMSES 1 


H7 


“Why, what’s the matter, Buck? Is there any¬ 
thing wrong?” 

The young man turned his dark, angry face toward 
her. 

“You bet I’ll go home if Millie don’t stop laffin’ 
at me.” 

Hulda smiled, yet she had no comprehension of 
the real reason of this seemingly hostile remark. 

“I don’t think she is laughing at you, Buck,” she 
said. “But I will see. She must not do it. Wait, 
and I will speak to her.” 

Buck obediently sat down on the porch and waited. 
Millie’s face was in her apron, and she was laughing 
hysterically and refused to speak. But bright little 
Alex held up his hand. 

“Please, Miss Hardy, she’s laffin’ at Buck. His 
hands gets pink off’m his shirt.” 

Hulda gently reproved her young lady pupil, and 
the laughter was changed into an equally unrestrained 
shower of tears. 

Buck, watching from the door, was then apparently 
mollified, and returned to his seat. 

A day or so after, at the noon day recess, one of 
the small Bates boys came in crying. “Buck Dorms 
throwed a rock at me,” he whimpered. 

Hulda went out to reason with Buck, but he posi¬ 
tively denied having thrown a rock at the boy. The 
teacher spent the hour smoothing over the difficulty. 
The week then passed away without further hostilities. 
The younger children became used to each other and 
began to associate amicably on the playground. Buck 



148 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


and Mlilie, however, seemed to take every favorable 
opportunity to publish their antipathy. 

Millie said several times, in a loud voice, that Buck 
did throw the rock, and Buck retaliated by flinging 
a pebble in Millie’s direction, whenever she appeared 
in his sight dn the playground. 

The young teacher observed this with forebodings. 
She knew that a quarrel at school would be extended 
to the families at home, and might result in the 
withdrawal of nearly all of her pupils. 

One day Millie came in at recess and dropped into 
her seat sobbing. Hulda hurried sympathetically to 
her side, and after some coaxing found that one of 
Buck’s pebbles had hit her upon the side of the face. 
There was no mark on the round, firm, apple-cheek, 
and why the girl’s heart should be so utterly crushed 
by so slight an injury, or affront, was incomprehen¬ 
sible to the serious-minded teacher. But she tried 
to comfort her, then went out to see if she could not 
reason Buck into some terms of peace. 

Buck had been stealing information through the 
window, and was evidently pleased to see Millie in a 
condition of such abject sorrow. He listened to all 
his teacher had to say, with quiet good-nature. He 
whittled a stick vigorously and seemed to enjoy 
Hulda’s long dissertation on charity and the forgive¬ 
ness of offenses. 

“All right,” he said, finally, “tell her I won’t do 
it again, if she’ll just stop laffin’ at me.” Here was 
another mystery, for Hulda knew it to be incompat¬ 
ible with Millie’s simple nature to really attempt to 


THE “BATESES AND THE DORMSES’ ’ I4Q 

ridicule any one. However, quiet and peace suc¬ 
ceeded; but the young teacher’s mind was in contin¬ 
ual anxiety lest hostilities should at any moment be 
resumed. 

She became so worried and perplexed thinking it 
all over, that upon the next Saturday, she cast it all 
from her memory and rested her mind by devoting 
the day to her studies. Latin-English translation 
was always to her an absorbing recreation. Then 
she spent an hour with her favorite poem, Aurora 
Leigh. With the limited experiences of her young 
life, she could not understand all of it, but she had 
a liking for its seriousness. Her own blundering 
hands had been led to take hold of strange yet man¬ 
ifest duties, and she found comfort in Aurora’s 
nobility. Life seemed easier and sweeter after read¬ 
ing of her. 

Before lunch she laid down her books and put on 
a new white dress her mother had made and sent 
her. It was more elaborately made than her old 
ones, with open sleeves showing her round, white 
arms. She had become more clever in arranging 
her hair, having caught a trick of Millie Bates, and 
she brushed it into shining coils and drew it into a 
shapely and modish design. Then she pinned on her 
breast a great bunch of her favorite poppies (Esch- 
scholtzias), that Alex and Trummy had brought her 
that morning. She then turned to her glass with a 
reflective glance. She had suddenly wondered if she 
could ever be so good looking as to be loved, like a 
heroine in a book. She was startled at the vision 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


150 

she saw there. Certainly her eyes had never looked 
so dark and glowing as now, over the mass of golden 
poppies. A new expression was growing around 
her mouth, and there seemed to be a more delicate 
outline in the paler pink of her cheeks. And she 
blushed to have caught a smile hovering on her lips. 
Shaking out her soft white skirt, she went out into 
the porch, sheltered by bloomiug honey-suckles, and 
there waited for the call to lunch. She suddenly 
heard the loud voice of Mr. Woods saying to some 
one around the corner of the house: 

“Yes, you can raise any kind of fruit here, but 
what are you going to do for a market?” 

“Well, the market will come, I think,” answered 
a well-modulated vocie, the sound of which caused 
the girl’s heart to leap, and the blood to tingle a 
moment in her cheeks. 

Just then the two men came around the corner of 
the house toward her—Mr. Woods and Edward La 
Grange—each carrying a market basket full of ripe 
cherries. La Grange placed his basket quickly on 
the porch and came toward Hulda, who had held 
out her warm hand. 

“How do you do, Miss Hardy?” he said. “I have 
been scraping up an acquaintance with Mr. Wood 
on the strength of having met you. So please don’t 
repudiate me now.” 

The surprised girl murmured almost inaudibly, 
“Oh, no, why should I ?” while he held her hand firmly, 
Mr. Woods having turned away to wipe his heated 
face. 


THE “BATESES AND THE DORMSES” 151 

Then Hulda quickly brought some chairs, and La 
Grange sat down, watching her with a pleased and 
puzzled expression. He had never before noticed 
that she possessed so many of the elements of beauty. 
Mr. Woods turned to them with a smiling look. 

“Well, I had the advantage on scraping acquaint¬ 
ances, for he finished the last of my cherries.” 

La Grange laughed, threw off his white straw hat, 
and lifting a basket of cherries, placed it within 
reach of Hulda. No one could help but feel at home 
with La Grange. Both felt the charm of his perfect 
self-possession and ease. Hulda recovered from her 
embarrassment. 

“What! Picking cherries instead of breaking 
horses ?” 

“Oh, anything!” laughed the young man. 

Then Mr. Woods explained that La Grange had 
been up in his large cherry trees all the morning, and 
had finished the cherry picking. Then Hulda re¬ 
membered that the little boys had gone up the creek 
to fish, or rather to play at fishing, which accounted 
for the silence, and the fact that she did not know 
before of his presence. 

Not that La Grange thought this the only means 
of obtaining the favor of Mr. Woods, but as he rode 
up he observed that Mr. Woods was having some 
difficulty working with a short ladder and large trees, 
and having yet a boy’s love of the sport, he had 
offered to assist. That his political prospects might 
be improved by his ability to pick cherries, was an 
afterthought. 


152 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Although the attractions of the Cherry Valley 
school-teacher had brought him there, yet, viewing it 
politically, he knew that his time in the cherry 
trees had been better employed than in conversing 
with the brown-eyed young teacher. 

But Mrs. Woods had seen the stranger in the trees 
and had made herself busy' preparing a savory and 
attractive luncheon She soon appeared on the porch, 
and welcomed La Grange with pleasure in her voice 
and manners; for the presence of so agreeable a per¬ 
son was another break in the monotony of her life. 
She took them all in to lunch, supplying a flow of 
apt and pleasing remarks. 

Hulda felt a new sense of companionship with her 
young friend, as she noted the familiar footing he 
adopted among these plain-mannered, yet intelligent 
people. 

The days were now growing longer and warmer, 
and La Grange was very content that afternoon to 
sit on the shaded porch, perfumed with honey-suckles, 
and study the character and opinions of this attract¬ 
ive and shy young woman. He was amused with her 
recital of her difficulties at school; he knew that they 
would not seem so grave to him. He could not for 
himself understand why two young people at that 
age should perpetuate the family feud in a really se¬ 
rious manner. He thought a little managing of some 
sort might bring the young people together into more 
amicable relationship. The family troubles ought to be 
eliminated among the children for the sake, any way, 
of th.e school and its interests. He then told Hulda 


THE “BATESES AND THE D0RMSES** 153 

of a project he had for the amusement of the people, 
and he thought that, possibly, through it, the hos¬ 
tile children might be drawn into peaceful relations. 
He wished her to unite with him in giving a school 
picnic on the Fourth of July. He said that there was 
a very nice grove of oaks about half way between the 
two districts. He thought that with the two schools 
a good program might be arranged; a platform, he 
said, would be erected by the young men of his dis¬ 
trict, provided they could have a dance. Hulda 
dropped her eyes, clasping her hands silently. The 
picnic would be delightful; but she was thinking 
about the dance. She had been taught to disapprove 
of anything of that kind, and La Grange knew it. 
He left his chair and came and sat down on the edge 
of the porch at her feet. 

“I know you’re troubled,” he said, “about the 
dance, but believe me there is no use to have a pic¬ 
nic without it. No one would come. We can have 
the exercise before lunch, and then if you are so 
much troubled about the dance, you could—” 

Hulda interrupted,- “Come home.” 

La Grange laughed and picked up a poppy that 
had fallen from her throat. 

“Yes, you could.”La Grange was not playing lover, 
he was dispatching business; and she liked his way of 
doing it. Hulda decided not to oppose the dance. 
Since she had first met La Grange, David had given 
her some practical training in the art of mingling 
agreeably with all sorts of people. At that time and 
place there was so selection—society was cosmopol¬ 
itan or nothing. 


154 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“I will not treat your picnic that way,” she said. 
“I will stay and talk to the pople.” 

He looked up into her face with a grateful expres¬ 
sion of understanding. “You are right,” he contin¬ 
ued, “and if you will come over on Lila, I would be 
pleased to ride home with you after the picnic. It 
will be on Friday. Now let us arrange about that 
program.” 

He was glad that he did not have to argue again 
with this proud girl on the subject of dancing, which 
he cared for only as a means of associating with the 
people. 

The sun was low when the arrangements were quite 
finished, and he arose from his low seat so close to 
the folds of her white dress. 

“Now, good-by,” his manner was always so pa- 
tronly, “I will be over on Saturday, sure. Two weeks 
is a short time for us to get ready in, but I think we 
will get on nicely.” 

After he had gone Hulda was telling Mrs. Woods 
of the plans they had made for the exercises, and she 
was surprised upon reflection, that she had con¬ 
sented to these arrangements; for she was now 
doubtful that they could be successfully carried out. 
Her children had never participated in anything of 
the kind. 

Among other things the plan was to have all the 
children march several times around the platform 
singing “Hail Columbia,” with Millie Bates and 
Buck Dorms at the head, severally costumed as Co¬ 
lumbia and Brother Jonathan. 


the “Bateses and the dormses’* 155 

“You will do well if you make them do it,” com¬ 
mented Mrs. Woods, “but if you could, the two fam¬ 
ilies would be so proud, they might quit quarreling 
for a while.” 

So Hulda determined to carry out the plan if pos¬ 
sible. 

Millie had a well developed, Minerva like form, 
and Buck was tall and awkward; both well designed 
for presentaton of these characters. 

Hulda thought it best to first introduce the subject 
to Buck; so on the Monday following she went out 
to the oak tree where he was whittling in the shade, 
and candidly told him of the plans for the picnic, and 
what they wanted him to do. To her surprise he 
offered no objection. 

“I know La Grange,” he said, “he is a good fellow. 
I’ll do it to please him or you either; if Millie will,” 
he added. 

Hulda found that her real task was with Millie. 
When the plan was explained at Millie’s desk at the 
recess, Millie, blushing, dropped her head on her 
arms and giggled so much and so long that it was im¬ 
possible to get a definite answer from her that day. 

The next day she assured the teacher with great 
emphasis, that she wouldn’t do it for anything in the 
world, she knew she wouldn’t. She was sure her 
mother wouldn’t allow it, either. 

Hulda gently reminded her that she was the only 
girl in the two districts, who had a perfectly classic 
form, and therefore the only one suitable for the part. 
On the third day Millie came and blushingly said, 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


156 

that she was willing to appear as Columbia, if Buck 
would come and ask her himself. Again the teacher 
stated the case to the eldest of the Dorms family. 
Buck received the information in silence, whittling 
as usual. 

“All right,” he said finally, “I’ll see what I’ll do.” 

At noon time Hulda saw the two councilling to¬ 
gether under the oak tree, and then Millie came to 
her, all smiles, and said she had consented. Hulda 
was relieved, especially as there seemed to be no 
more quarreling, and “Columbia” and “Brother Jona¬ 
than” consulted continuously under the oak tree. 

Saturday La Grange came again and all the arrange¬ 
ments were perfected. La Grange assumed the re¬ 
sponsibility and care of the preparation of “Brother 
Jonathan,” leaving Millie’s costume to the devices of 
Mrs. Woods and Hulda. 

The teachers had much to talk about that warm 
June day; and when La Grange started home Hulda 
put on a wide hat and walked with him a ways fol¬ 
lowing the shadows on the creek road. The picnic 
had placed them on a more social basis. They chat¬ 
ted and laughed freely and told each other their later 
school-room experiences. The young woman was 
receiving confidence and courage from the wiser 
young man. He seemed not to know any difficulties, 
and he was so earnest, and faced hard work so un¬ 
flinchingly. She wondered; and became more am¬ 
bitious and broader in mind. 

Even on that day he had carried a Virgil’s .ZEnead 
in his pocket, reviewing its hard lines as he rode 
through the shady groves, and over stony ridges. 


THE “BATESES AND THE DORMSES” 


157 


They stood with a lingering hand clasp when the 
setting of the sun warned him that he must hasten on. 

“I think it will all be a success only for one thing,” 
he said, looking steadily down upon her, “that is, you 
will not dance with me.” 

The warm color flooded her face. She wished 
that she need not offend him for so slight a thing. 
Besides she really wanted to dance, and to dance 
with him. Millie had been teaching her the steps, 
and with the knowledge came temptation. She com¬ 
pressed her lips and looked down. 

“Only for my mother,” she stammered. 

“There,” he said, “I’ll not tease you. I wish I had 
a mother to honor. Good-night, now. I’ll not see 
you till the Fourth.” 

He leaped into his saddle and was off. She turned 
back, listening to the ring of his horse’s feet on the 
hard, graded road. Life seemed so newly precious 
and rich, and all effort so natural and sweet. She 
thought no place in all the world could be as fair as 
that warm red hill, the brushy creek, the irregular 
orchard, and the low, brown farmhouse. 

During the week following, Millie had several tear¬ 
ful afternoons, but the anxious teacher could not de¬ 
termine the cause. Buck, however, assured her, 
that Millie wouldn’t go back on what she had agreed 
to do, and Thursday night came and all was ready 
for the first picnic of the Cherry Creek and Bird’s 
Flat School Districts, the events and consequences 
of which were destined to work a radical change in 
the lives of several of the participants. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE PICNIC. 

It was in the line of natural events that David 
Strong, over in Hardup, should hear of the picnic. 
He immediately had a great desire to see his friend 
Hulda Hardy surrounded by her pupils and her new 
friends. A few thoughts about it led him to the con¬ 
clusion that he ought to get a neat buggy and take 
Mrs. Hardy to that picnic, for he knew that the good 
woman seldom went away from home, and it would 
be a rare pleasure to her, as well as the novelty of 
attending an affair in which her daughter was directly 
concerned. 

It would also be a chance for him to show that he 
appreciated the many home privileges he had enjoyed 
at the Hardy cottage. 

Going to the livery stable in town to hire a buggy, 
he found that he could get nothing but a two seated 
carriage. As he stood in a quandary looking at it, 
a new idea occurred to him. 

He whistled softly, engaged the carriage and two 
horses, and then strode out in the direction of the 
widow’s home. 

He found Mrs. Hardy in her kitchen. She was 
willing and glad to go, although she would have to 
158 


THE PICNIC 


159 


sit up late that night to prepare the lunch, and also 
be burdened on the trip with the care of the child, 
Nonie. 

Then David went out, enjoying fully the process 
of carrying out his plan. 

Mr. Jospeh Cornman was sitting on the front porch 
in the moonlight. No, he had not heard of the pic¬ 
nic. He hoped it would pass off satisfactorily, and 
not cause Hulda any trouble, as such things usually 
did. He was very glad Mrs. Hardy was going, very 
glad. 

“You’d better come along too,” suggested David, 
carelessly, as if he had not been planning towards 
that particular end. “There’s plenty of room—two 
horse rig—more the merrier—glad to have you.” 

Mr. Cornman’s face relaxed, but he was careful to 
restrain a smile. He succeeded very well in avoiding 
a too eager acceptance of the offer. He finally stated 
that if he would not be at all in the way, he would 
go to occupy the vacant seat. 

All this was great fun for David. His plan was to 
take the Hardup teacher to the picnic to exasperate 
Hulda all day with the situations he would bring 
about, and then mollify her afterwards with his good- 
humor. It was choice amusement for him. It was 
worth the eight dollars for the team. 

So he left the cottage chuckling over the progress 
of his arrangements. Then as he whistled along, 
another after-thought came with seductive power. 
He threw up his hand and stopped. There was still 
a vacant seat in the carriage. There was another 


l6o DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

one who might want to go f^rloveof Hulda, of whom 
Hulda had spoken kindly the Sunday that she was 
home. It was one who had treated him badly—so 
badly that his good sesne had come to his rescue. 
Yet she was at home now, loved Hulda, and Hulda 
had spoken kindly of her. Now was a good time to 
show the world he didn’t care, any way. 

David consulted his watch; it was yet early, so he 
turned about and walked across the schoolhouse 
flat, along the stony creek bottom and up to the 
little brown, vine-covered house on the Beverly farm. 

The old people showed their happiness at once, to 
see him come again. Grandmother bustled around, 
and lit the lamp in the house to call them in from 
the moonlit porch. Then she brought milk and cake 
from the pantry. Grandpa brought in a pan of frag¬ 
rant apricots, while Cis shrank into a large rocker 
and watched David, with a white, thoughtful face. 
She had suffered much in her short life, but not 
through one like David. 

When the picnic was spoken of the color warmed 
in her face, and later she followed him all the way 
down the orchard path to the gate, and spoke of the 
pleasure it would be to her to go, and her apprecia¬ 
tion'of his thoughtfulness. 

About the middle of the forenoon on the day of 
the picnic, Hulda stood with La Grange on the 
odorous new pine platform, arranging with him just 
how the schools should come up onto the platform, 
when they sang the openiug ode together. She wore 
her new, soft, white dress, a pretty fresh straw hat, 


THE PICNIC 


161 


and a flutter of yellow ribbons around her neck and 
waist; the mass of yellow poppies in her hand had 
been handed up to her by some of her pupils just as 
she had stepped onto the platform. 

The Fourth of July is seldom anything but cloud¬ 
less in the lower Sierra regions, but a light breeze 
was blowing and the day was considered perfect. 

The grove was filling with a miscellaneous crowd 
of people, and vehicles of all sorts hitched under the 
trees formed a complete circle around. 

The majority were plainly dressed people, with 
faces indicating all sorts of mental and moral grades, 
and their garments all sorts of styles. There was a 
sprinkling of persons dressed according to the later 
modes, prevalent in the cities; and some very correct 
and gallant looking beaus were escorting some 
stylishly dressed young ladies around the grounds. 

Miss Hunter of Enterprise Mine was telling her in¬ 
timate friend that she thought the Cherry Valley 
school-marm was a stumpy looking thing, and Miss 
Weaver, daughter of the leading trustee of Bird’s 
Flat, remarked to her rather rotund mother that 
there was Edward up there talking with that Miss 
Hardy, and she hoped they would get through fixing 
things up some time. 

In truth they had been all the morning “Axing 
things.” 

They had borrowed the use of rooms in the ad¬ 
jacent farmhouse to try on the costumes of Brother 
Jonathan and the Goddess of Liberty. They had 
compared results and had dismissed the two children, 

David of Juniper Guieii U 


i 62 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


for so they considered them, to divert themselves 
till the second dressing time came. 

Millie was full of extra giggle, and Buck noncom- 
municative; and Hulda started them off together, 
pleased that they seemed to be on friendly footing. 
While she was standing on the platform talking to 
La Grange, she lifted her eyes to an opening in the 
grove, and a cry of surprise escaped her. A hand¬ 
some carriage drawn by a dashing team had just 
come up, and that was David who sprang to the 
ground with the reins; but who were the other peo¬ 
ple ? Would La Grange excuse her for a few minutes ? 

The young man escorted her to the steps of the 
platform and handed her down gracefully. 

“Don’t forget Miss Liberty,” he said, smiling. 

Hulda pushed her way through the crowd and 
threw her arms around her mother, just as David 
lifted her to the ground. 

“And Mr. Cornman, too! Oh, how surprised I 
am!” she cried. “Well, I am delighted!” She gave 
a hand to each. 

Cis in a black dress and a little white hat, had 
been arranging the sleeping baby in the carriage 
robes. Mrs. Hardy drew Hulda aside. 

“We didn’t know she was coming,” she explained, 
“till David brought her this mornnig. But she has 
been kind; she has carried the bab^y all the way for 
me.” 

David wore a fine black suit, was clean shaven be¬ 
low his mustache, and Hulda complimented him on 
his appearance. He had found an excuse to draw 


THE PICNIC 


163 


her aside, by showing her his horses. There was 
something he wanted to say, and when safe from the 
hearing of all the others, he began his humorous 
nonsense. 

“You see, Cornman couldn’t stand it any longer,” 
he said. “He’s heard all about your fine new beau 
over here, and the poor man’s nearly crazy. I think 
he wants to kill that Bird’s Flat teacher. Got his 
pocket full of self-loading crayons. Just see the 
team he hired, Hulda. How’s that for style?” 

Having heard enough of that, Hulda went back to 
the others. Whatever the little embarrassment 
might be, she was glad to have them there. They 
were her own folks, and Mr. Cornman was somewhat 
known and commanded respect any where. She 
was trying to seat them all near the platform, when 
La Grange touched her arm. 

“You will have to come,” he said, “I’m afraid there 
is trouble. Buck wants to see you.” 

She found Buck under an oak tree back of the 
platform. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t 
march around with Millie Bates, and make her a 
little speech and persent her with a garland; that he 
couldn’t, and wouldn’t do it, for all the money in 
the world. He simply would not, and she’d have to 
find some one else. 

The young teacher was vexed and distressed, but 
she knew better than to be angry with Buck. She 
gave him her sympathy; something surely had gone 
wrong with him. She knew that Buck was simple- 
hearted and meant no unkindness, though she failed 


164 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


utterly to understand his varying moods. So she 
spoke only kindly and regretfully, and soon the true 
reason came out. Millie had again punished his 
sensitive nature by an unexplained lapse of sobriety. 

Hulda sighed. Millie was not really capable of 
making fun of any one, and the cause of Buck’s many 
misunderstandings of her moods or remarks was in¬ 
comprehensible to her. But she took his arm and 
led him aside. He was tall and well dressed, and 
made a desirable escort, as escorts were rated there. 

“I know you must be wrong,” she said. “Millie 
doesn’t make fun of you. If she has I will make 
her apologize. Would that make it all right, if I 
brought her and made her apologize?” 

The young man’s face brightened. 

“Will you wait till I bring her here?” 

He nodded and produced a stick to whittle. 

Then the anxious teacher had a futile hunt around 
the grounds to find her Miss Columbia. La Grange 
suggested the farmhouse, and there she found her 
in the parlor alone in an attitude the Goddess of 
Liberty had never been known to assume, and shed¬ 
ding tears in a highly perfumed handkerchief. Hulda 
had already made up her mind to humble herself to 
any amount of coaxing, so she put her arm lovingly 
around her prostrate model for a Goddess. 

“You poor little girl,” she said, “what is the mat¬ 
ter. Tell me, Millie dear, won’t you?” 

Millie dropped her fair head on her teacher’s shoul¬ 
der and sobbed. 

“Buck is dreadful angry.” 


I'HE PICNIC 165 

“But, Millie, my child, you must not make fun of 
him.” 

“I didn’t,” indignantly. 

“Millie!” reprovingly. 

“Well, I didn’t.” 

“But he thinks you did, dear, and you must go 
and apologize, for it is nearly time to begin the ex¬ 
ercises.” 

“Won’t he march, if I don’t?” with a flush of 
blushes. 

“No, Millie, and I don’t blame him. Come dear.” 

Millie took from her pocket a bit of powder in an 
envelope, and her willing teacher brushed away the 
traces of her tears, and they went down together to 
the spot where Buck was still whittling, with averted 
face. 

“Buck,” said the gentle teacher, “here’s Millie. 
She’s sorry if she has offended you, and wishes to 
apologize. Come, do settle your trouble and get 
ready for the march.” 

Buck look&d up at her gratefully. 

“All right,” he said. “You go on up, and we will 
be there in a minute.” 

Hulda left them and waited on the farmhouse 
porch. They came up more like pair of lovers than 
school-children. Millie hanging on his arm content¬ 
edly, and Buck looking proud and self satisfied. La 
Grange followed them, and Hulda saw a curious smile 
hovering on his face as he looked at her over their 
shoulders. It flashed across her mind that La 
Grange saw more in their rustic reconciliation than 




166 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

the circumstance warranted, but she had no time to 
think it over. 

Shortly after, the two schools in couples began to 
march around on the platform singing “My Country 
’Tis of Thee,” after which, a tall Brother Jonathan, 
resplendent in a striped and starry costume led a 
beautiful and dignified Columbia to the front, and the 
rest thronged about singing “Hail Columbia,” and 
waving their flags with appropriate time and gestures. 

Buck presented the placid Columbia with a gar¬ 
land of green bays and roses, as a symbol of the 
country’s devotion; and repeated his lines, omitting 
part of them, however. The audience broke into 
the wildest applause; it made no difference what he 
said or omitted, they were delighted with the spec¬ 
tacle. 

La Grange then took charge of the platform and 
program, adroitly giving the Cherry Valley school 
teacher a prominent seat as Maid of Honor to the 
fair Columbia. The program of songs and recitations 
was then delivered, and the audience listened with 
wonder and amazement, for no teachers in those 
parts had ever before presented such a literary and 
artistic entertainment. Indeed La Grange had made 
the best of his material. 

Alex Woods was a shining success “Standing on 
the burning deck” as Cassabianca. 

A wild looking girl with a tangle of black hair, who 
had been to the city for a year, made a successful 
“Charge of the Light Brigade,” and the leading young 
lady pupil from Bird’s Flat made “The Bells” ring 


THE PICNIC 


167 


and swing as they never had rung and swung before. 

Then the leading boy pupil of Bird’s Flat came on 
with a speech from Webster that made a profound 
impression. 

A young lady from Bird’s Flat, not in the school, 
but at the desire of La Grange, rendered “The Star 
Spangled Banner,” chorused by all in the audience 
or the schools who would sing. 

The exercises terminated in a burst of long contin¬ 
ued applause, and the audience and children then 
scattered about among the oaks to discuss its merits 
over the lunches, that were soon spread on white 
tablecloths over the grass. 

Hulda immediately hurried to help her mother 
with the luncheon for their little party. 

Mr. Cornman was moderately enthusiastic in his 
praise of the entertainment, and David amused him¬ 
self by making laudatory statements about La Grange, 
and continually asking Hulda to verify the truth of 
them. 

How fond the people were of him! What a good 
voice he had! What easy manners! And didn’t 
Hulda think so, in every case? 

Cis tried to come to her rescue, and protested 
gently. 

“Please don’t, Dave. Any one would think you 
were making fun of him.” Hulda pressed her hand, 
and David looked up at Cis reflectively. 

After the remnants and the dishes had been re¬ 
packed by the two girls, Cis and David suddenly 
walked away together, and the Hardup teacher, in- 


168 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

cidentally or intentionally, walked out of hearing, so 
that Hulda and her mother had an opportunity to 
talk a few moments confidentially. They were dis¬ 
turbed by the harsh sound of the tuning of a violin. 
They looked down and saw that the people were 
hurrying to the platform with all the evidence of 
pleasurable excitement. Hulda saw the dark head 
of La Grange, as he stood with several other young 
men, who were tuning stringed instruments. A girl 
gayly dressed, holding a guitar, stood smiling down 
at the upturned faces about her. Hulda saw at a 
glance that the real motive of the day as it concerned 
most of the crowd, was about to have culmination. 
Young men were hurrying here and there, and the 
young women were smiling and talking with new 
animation, wherever they happened to be. 

The violinists finally seated themselves on a corner 
of the platform, and a stout man sprang up by the 
players, and opened the affair by calling out in a loud 
voice: 

“Take your partners for a quadrille.” 

Immediately a press of oddly assorted couples 
filled up the platform; stiff old men with stout wives, 
tall men with little girls, boys with old maids, and the 
belle of Bird’s Flat with her father. She had taken 
care, however, to secure a standing place near La 
Grange, to whom she addressed her remarks while 
she waited. 

Miss Weaver and Miss Hunter were with the hand¬ 
somest young men on the grounds. While perfectly 
at ease, and apparently happy, Millie and Buck 


THE PICNIC 


16 ^ 

walked arm in arm to a corner position. Then the 
music and calling of figures began, and with a ming¬ 
ling of graceful and grotesque bows, the platform 
began to sound and shake with the tramp of many 
feet. 

Mrs. Hardy was mildly distressed that there should 
have been dancing at her daughter’s picnic, and she 
was not interested in it, even as a picture of the peo¬ 
ple’s amusement; so Hulda arranged her on the car¬ 
riage seats and robes so that she might rest, and care 
for Nonie, and went and found Mrs. Woods to come 
and sit with her. 

This accomplished she went down to a plank seat 
near the platform, for she was particularly interested 
in the dancing of Buck and Millie. She was immedi¬ 
ately surrounded by several of her young school-chil¬ 
dren, who leaned upon her and clung to her hands. 
Then Mr. Cornman came gravely and sat down be¬ 
side her. She was glad of the protective presence of 
the little ones. Deprived of the chance to make any 
personal plea, he began to question her in a parental 
way about her school. She followed him with her 
replies, and managed an intelligent conversation, but 
her mind was concentrated on the curious scene be¬ 
fore her: The odd coupling of old and young, the 
new lumber platform, redolent of the odors of the 
mill, and the background of great shady oaks. 

The transformation of Millie and Buck was deeply 
interesting; no longer slow, awkward school-children, 
but a graceful young man and woman, the handsomest 
couple under her observation. Whatever their cul- 


170 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


ture in other things may have lacked, they showed 
no lack of it here. They were in the world they were 
best fitted to occupy. They danced with grace both 
forgetting in the inspiration of the violins that they 
had ever suffered from restraint and awkwardness. 
Despite the Methodistical training of the young ob¬ 
server, a feeling of real pleasure came into her heart, 
that here was an occupation in which these young 
people were the peers of all around them. In watch¬ 
ing them so closely, Hulda was unconsciously mem¬ 
orizing the sequence of the simple figures, when sud ¬ 
denly the music changed to a waltz tune, Buck’s arm 
went around Millie’s waist, and they glided around 
and were lost in the whirpool of the crowd. La 
Grange, meanwhile, was smiling at Hulda over his 
violin, and discerning something of her thought, as 
her dark eyes dwelt admiringly on the forms of her 
pupils. She caught the glance of his magnetic eye, 
and she turned to Mr. Cornman, ashamed of her in¬ 
attention to him. She read the meaning of the 
glance and flushed guiltily. She was guilty of ad¬ 
miring that of which she did not approve. La Grange 
would think her lacking in strength of mind. When 
she again turned to the platform, David and Cis were 
there in the corner, in the place of Buck and Millie. 
This did not attract her so much, and she was about 
to go back to her mother, when a light touch on her 
arm from behind stopped her. It was Buck, no 
longer her pupil, but one of the leaders of Cherry 
Valley society. 

“Teacher, don’t you want to dance?” 


THE PICNIC 


171 


“Dance!” she exclaimed in surprise. 

“Yes, with me.” 

Hulda heard a sound, neither a laugh or a groan, 
from Mr. Cornman, so she hastily took Buck’s arm 
and moved away, saying to him as she walked, “Why 
Buck, you know I can’t dance. What do you come 
to me for?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to know,” presisted Buck. 
“That don’t make no difference. You can dance a 
quadrille any way. I’ll teach you.” 

Hulda then stopped and faced him with the author¬ 
ity of her official right. 

“Tell me, Buck, did Mr. La Grange send you to 
me?” 

“Oh, no, Miss Hardy,” he replied earnestly. “It 
was his place to dance with you first, but I suppose 
he couldn’t get any one to play in his place. I just 
thought I’d come and get you.” 

Hulda hesitated. She dreaded the necessity of 
giving offense to her pupil, who could never under¬ 
stand her reasons. Then the idea of an agreeable 
compromise came to her. 

“Well, I appreciate your kindness, Buck, and 
though I can’t dance, I’ll go up and march around 
with you. It will please the children to see me up 
there.” 

“All right,” answered the young man, with great 
satisfaction. “Come on. They’re going to march 
now.” 

Although Hulda went reluctantly, she soon found 
herself enjoying the sensation of marching around 


172 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


to the strains of lively music; Buck’s pride Was manb 
fest, and many turned to her with smiles of welcome. 
All at once things began to change* There were 
swift movements all around her and the call: 

“Balance all. First couples right and left,” found 
her in the center of the platform with David and Cis 
in front of her, couples swinging at the right and left, 
and no way of escape. 

“Buck,” she pleaded, with a horrified look, “can’t 
you get me out ?” 

“Oh, no,” he returned, coolly, “you're all right. 
Strong and I will help you through. I know Strong. 
Seen him lots of times.” He held her arm firmly. 
“No, you can’t get out. Watch Strong’s girl, and 
you’re all right.” 

“Swing your partners!” 

Buck swung her around with perfect skill. Cis 
came forward with a smile, and took her hand, and 
David swung her again, apparently, however, not 
knowing who she was. The three assistants skillfully 
pushed her through the figure, and as soon as she 
had recovered her self-possession, she said to Strong: 

“Dave, this is one of your tricks.” David only 
laughed. 

“Buck,” she said, on the other side of the figure, 
“did Mr. Strong send you for me?” 

“Well, yes,” admitted her big boy pupil, “but I 
wanted to go for you anyway. All the folks will like 
you better if you dance.” 

When the opportunity came the four made their 
way out. Buck bowed, thanked her for her company 


THE PICNIC 


173 


and went away. Hulda walked up to the carriage 
with David and Cis, having taken a distressing lesson 
in the manners and customs of the country. 

David was hilarious—full of the wildest mirth, and 
enlarged upon all the mirthful powers of the incident. 
Her mother had a grave face, but Mrs. Woods, Cis, 
and even Mr. Cornman, fell into the spirit of the 
joke, and met her excuses and regrets with wit and 
laughter. 

David gravely explained to Mr. Cornman that 
Hulda was about to marry the son of the leading 
sheep man of that section, and Cis was laughingly 
sure that Hulda must have taken dancing lessons; 
and Mrs. Woods and Mr. Cornman fell into a serious 
discussion on the general subject of dancing. Then 
when they had all quieted down, sitting around in a 
careless group in the shade, Hulda surprised them all 
by explaining that her views had received a little ad¬ 
justing and that she could see no harm in orderly 
dancing in the open air, among people who would 
be at a loss for some other amusment. 

When the crowd had fairly dispersed, La Grange 
sent his violin home in a farm wagon, mounted his 
horse and galloped off down the ravine where Hulda 
was slowly disappearing in the distance on Lila. The 
day had been of all work to him and no pleasure, and 
he looked forward to a restful ride and a quiet even¬ 
ing in the Woods farmhouse, with the only girl he 
knew just then, whose company was really worth 
the time. 

La Grange, yet true to himself, took no pleasure 


174 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


in any affair, only as it was subservient to his own in¬ 
terests. He would have regretted the time spent at 
the picnic, but that he counted it so much gain tow¬ 
ards his acquaintanceship and popularity in the 
county. His law books were dearer to him than any 
dance, and at that moment he carried in his pocket a 
little French grammar, intending to ask the Cherry 
Valley teacher to engage with him in the study of 
that language. When he overtook her, and she 
turned to him with a softening of her dark eyes, he 
passed the book to her, and spoke of his plan. 

“That would be delightful,” she exclaimed, her face 
full of meaning. “Let us begin this evening.” 

“Yes, we will begin,” said La Grange, with a se¬ 
rious glance and manner, “when you h&ve explained 
to me why you have so suddenly reversed your prin¬ 
ciples in favor of a handsomer partner than I. I 
believe you refused to dance with me under any con¬ 
ditions whatsoever. 

A vivid flush crept over the girl’s cheeks, and she 
turned her face away. It was a serious matter to 
her if he cared. She did not see the smile of amuse¬ 
ment that crossed his face. Meanwhile it was noth¬ 
ing to him; he was pleased that she had had the 
political good judgment to place herself on such a 
generous basis with the country people, but he did 
enjoy bringing the color to the cheek of such an in¬ 
nocent and good meaning girl. 

The horses slowed into a walk, and Hulda turned 
her head as they rode into the shade of a steep hill, 
the sun setting over its crest. The buckeyes, man- 


THE PICNIC 


175 


zanitas and madrones made a narrow avenue, and a 
flock of quail whirred on before them. 

“But, will you not allow me to explain, Mr. La 
Grange?” 

He tried to continue his seriousness, but failed. 

“I don’t see what explanation you can make, Miss 
Hardy. You chose another before me. That is 
about the size of it.” 

Hulda lifted her eyes and smiled. 

“But you are unfair,” she said, “let me give my 
evidence and then pass your judgment.” 

Then as she explained, he persisted in asking so 
many puzzling questions, and making such droll re¬ 
marks, that the ponies took their own time, and it 
was nearly dark when they rode up to the Woods 
farmhouse and found Mrs. Woods at the orchard gate 
looking for Hulda, anxious that she should be home 
in time for tea. 

The Woods’ home, whenever occasion offered, was 
always open as a public house, and La Grange ex¬ 
plained that he wished to study with the Cherry 
Valley teacher, at once engaged accommodations of 
her for the night for himself and horse. This frank¬ 
ness of purpose was usual with him. 

After tea, Mrs. Woods drew out a table for them, 
and the French lessons began, the class being en¬ 
larged by Alex, who leaned upon his teacher’s lap 
under the kindly embrace of her arm. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE LINE FENCE. 

As they all sat at breakfast in the morning in the 
little dining-room, Alex, whose quick ears caught 
every sound, left the table and ran out. He soon 
ran back breathless, with wide open eyes. 

“Susie Bates’s out here on the gray mare,’’ he cried, 
“and she says Millie must be here. She didn’t come 
home last night at all.” 

Hulda could see nothing alarming in that, but as 
Mrs. Woods rose immediately and went out, she fol¬ 
lowed. 

Perched oddly on the back of the large mare was 
little Susie, sobbing and shedding tears. She wanted 
her Millie. Millie slept with her. Millie had never 
been away before, and altogether her heart was 
broken for Millie. 

The two women tried to comfort the little girl as 
best they could, and were sending her away, when a 
spring wagon appeared, containing Mrs. Bates and 
the eldest boy, and it soon transpired that the entire 
Bates family were out scouring the neighborhood for 
Millie. No trace of her had been found. Then Mr. 
Bates came dashing up on a great black horse, throw¬ 
ing the dust and charging the air with wild vitupera- 
176 


THE LINE FENCE 


177 


tions. La Grange, with the balance of the Woods 
family, came out and stood around the spring wagon. 

“Has any one been around to the Dorms’ ranch? 
asked La Grange. 

“Oh, she wouldn’t be there,” exclaimed Mrs. Bates, 
a mild, blue-eyed woman, with an expression of deep 
anxiety; and all who were present knew that none of 
the Bates family would be apt to inquire at that farm. 

“Suppose, however,” continued La Grange, with 
earnest interest, “that I saddle my horse and go over 
there and inquire for her. Some of them may have 
seen her.” 

This awakened the wits of Alex, whose informa¬ 
tion on all subjects coming under his observation was 
truly remarkable. 

“I bet she ain’t there,” he cried, triumphantly. “I 
bet she and Buck’s eloped. I seen him kiss her at 
school, and the boys said they was a goin’ to.” 

This announcement fell on the company at first 
with little force, but the effect deepened as each began 
to reflect upon it. La Grange looked over at Hulda 
with a smile of comprehension. Mrs. Bates gasped 
and dropped hysterically into a heap in the wagon. 

“The fools,” said father Bates, getting down from 
his horse and coming to aid his wife. “They can’t 
get married. They’re both under age.” 

This was a heavy blow to the poor mother who 
had been awake and worrying all night. She began 
to sob with uncontrollable emotion. 

Then Mrs. Woods and Hulda, with the assistance 
of all the distressed Bates family, lifted her from 

David of Juniper Gulch 12 


i 7 8 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


the wagon and took her into the house where she sat 
on the lounge and allowed Hulda to bathe her head 
with camphor. 

La Grange came to the door and said he would go 
over to the Dorms’ ranch anyway, and see if he could 
find out anything definite. 

It was several hours before he returned, for he had 
ridden about to find some clew to report. His report 
was only too affirming. 

Buck had not returned to his home, but, as he fre¬ 
quently remained away over night, this had occa¬ 
sioned no surprise there. But La Grange had finally 
interviewed a sheepherder, who had heard from an¬ 
other sheepherder, that the two young people had 
been seen the previous evening horseback on the road 
that led to the County seat, and the two shepherds 
had seemed to understand that it meant an elope¬ 
ment. 

La Grange broke the news as gently as possible 
to the stricken mother, and indignant father. Bates 
was angry and threatened violence. The attention 
of La Grange and Mr. Woods was turned to the fact 
that he must be kept there till his anger had somewhat 
spent itself. There would probably be bloodshed, if 
he were allowed to follow the couple, or go to the 
Dorms’ homestead. 

La Grange again volunteered to go to the Dorms* 
ranch to see what they intended to do in view of the 
discovered facts. 

As the affair was clearly a sequel to the picnic, he 
felt it to be his duty to do what he could to prevent 
serious trouble. 


THE LINE FENCE 


179 


The day was still warm, a kind of a day they call 
“hot” there, and he felt relaxed and tired as he rode 
along noting the waves of heated air against the dry, 
red hill slopes. The vision of Hulda’s shocked, dis¬ 
tressed look troubled him. He wondered if she would 
hold him and the dance responsible for this catas¬ 
trophe. 

He found the swarthy, black-eyed father of the 
“Dormses” in the shade of his house, tilted back in 
his chair, and smoking. He received the news in 
silence with unchanging expression. Finally he re¬ 
moved his pipe and held it a moment in the air. 

“It just serves ’em right,” he said. “If Bates had 
built that line fence years ago, them young uns 
wouldn’t ha’ got in so much courtin’. Watchin’ 
sheep off’m the same line ain’t good for no boy and 
girl. The amount of it is, I ain’t goin’ to do nothin’. 
Buck can’t git married, nor I don’t want him to. 
Both on ’em under age.” 

Mrs. Dorms appeared in the door listening in sL 
lence. It was evident to La Grange that they were 
enjoying the situation, as a revenge for long depreda¬ 
tions on their sheep pasture. Their satisfaction 
seemed to be complete, and Dorms refused to take 
any action or make any statements in regard to what 
fie desired to do or have done. 

La Grange hurried back to the Woods’ farm house 
thaorughly troubled and puzzled. His report filled 
the house with mourning. Bates swore that Millie 
should never be allowed to come home, and poor 
Mrs. Bates, weeping, begged that a marriage should 
somehow be arranged. 


l8o DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

“Blame it,” cried Bates in wrath, “we can’t have 
a marriage without old Dorms’ consent 1” 

La Grange was eating his delayed dinner in the 
dining-room, Bates was outside with Woods, swear¬ 
ing that the girl could go to Halifax, and Huldacame 
out to Mrs. Woods, who was kneading bread in the 
kitchen. Her face was feverish, and her eyes were 
shining with purpose. 

“Mrs. Woods,” she said, “I can’t stand this wait¬ 
ing and suspense. I am going after the girl myself. 
Can I have Lila?” 

“Bates will never let her come home,” answered 
Mrs. Woods. “He means just what he says.” 

“It makes no difference,” said the heroic young 
teacher. “I feel responsible. It was our picnic, and 
our exercises may have helped it on. If I can find 
her I will keep her till they are old enough to marry. 
For the sake of her poor mother, I am going anyway.” 

“But it is eighteen miles, and most of it a lonely 
mountain road,” protested Mrs. Woods. 

“If you are not afraid of losing Lila, I am not 
afraid for myself,” said Hulda, turning away. 

She hurried to her room, put on a light riding- 
habit, and went to the barn and brought out Lila, 
saddled and bridled. She went to Mr. Woods for 
directions as to her way, and said a few comforting 
words to the mother, and hurried away. She said 
nothing to La Grange. She surmised that he might 
offer to go with her if she told him, and she did not 
wish him to think that she had deliberately made a 
plan which necessarily involved him. 


THE LINE FENCE 


181 


Alex, however, who had heard the talk in the 
kitchen and had ran ahead to the barn to help with 
Lila, came to him and faithfully reported it all. La 
Grange fanned himself with his hat in the shade of 
the porch, and kept his mind to himself. 

He had no intention of letting the Cherry Valley 
teacher take that long and lonely ride alone. She 
would have to be out after dark and was liable to 
meet tramps and other dangerous characters as she 
neared the town. But he wanted to see that Bates 
would not follow in an irresponsible state of mind. He 
had no desire to be implicated in any shooting trouble, 
and for his sake as well as Hulda’s, he wanted as 
little excitement as possible to follow the disastrous 
result of the picnic. 

When it became known to the parents that Millie’s 
teacher had gone with a determination to find her, 
Mrs. Bates became calm and Bates, after another 
round of wrathful and expressive words, took his 
family and went home. Then Mrs. Woods remon¬ 
strated with her husband for allowing the teacher to 
start alone on a really hazardous trip. 

Then La Grange quickly set her mind at rest 
“She is all right for a while,” he said, “and I will 
overtake her. When it is cooler I can travel faster.” 

So that Hulda, riding through a lonely gorge, heard 
the rapid galloping of a horse on the hard road be¬ 
hind, and grasped her reins in nervous fear. She 
was already feeling the effects of the loneliness and 
the wildness of the surroundings. 

Then the strains of a lively whistle came to her 


i 82 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GUL€M 


ear, and she drew up her pony with an overwhelming 
feeling of gladness and relief. 

As he came up she turned to him with a smile. 

“Why did you come?” she said. “Did you think it 
would need us both?” 

Then a sudden thought overwhelmed her, and filled 
her face with crimson. Would the sheepherders say 
they were eloping too? 

La Grange may have divined her sudden compre¬ 
hension. Any way he had thought over the whole 
ground. He looked at her flushes and felt his own 
color mounting. 

“This was a necesesity,” he said, gravely. “It is 
unwise and unsafe for you to make this trip alone. 
As soon as we find Millie, I will return.” 

“Yes, that will be best,” cried Hulda, with sudden 
vehemence It did not occur to her, till the next day, 
that this generous plan to save her any mental vex¬ 
ation, meant the whole night in the saddle for him, 
and no rest at all. 

She gave a long sigh of relief. Do you think the 
picnic was to blame?” she asked anxiously. 

“Do you think the dance was to blame?” he asked, 
laughingly. “A family feud is sure to bring about an 
elopement,” he continued. “It is only Romeo and 
Juliet over again, and these poor-children never heard 
of the Capulets and Montagues. No, it was sure to 
come. Were they learning anything in school, Miss 
Hardy?” 

Hulda shook her head and bit her lip with vexation. 

They came into a deep canon with the water 


THE LINE FENCE 183 

rippling over the rocks below them and the tall pines 
towering overhead. 

The birds flew here and there, and hid in the si¬ 
lence of the forest. Sometimes a bushy grey squirrel 
ran across the road and up a tree. In after years 
Hulda could not forget that ride, and the memory of 
its rare pleasure was sweet to her, when all the 
sweetness of her young life seemed gone forever, and 
all other memories of those days were thrust back as 
poisonous and forbidden fruits. 

As the shadows grew deep, and rich with the 
resinous odor of the pines, the romance of the situa¬ 
tion occupied some thoughts in the young man’s 
mind. 

“Happy Buck,” he thought. “He has no untamable 
ambition into prevent his running away at once with 
the lady of his choice.” Then after a long silence he 
challenged Hulda to repeat the French lesson they 
had studied the previous evening. 

Happily after dark the moon showed itself over 
the peaks, so that they had its help to pick the way 
over a rocky by-road. 

When they came out on the top of a long ridge, 
Hulda knew that they must be nearing Forest City. 

“Now,” she said, and her caution indicated thought 
on the subject, “we must make some plan to find 
them without causing any stir in the town, if we 
can.” 

“I have already a plan in my head,” answered La 
Grange, “and I think you will like it. There is but 
one livery stable in town, and if they came in here 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


"i 8 4 

late last night, their horses were put there, and the 
boy in the stable will be liable to know something 
about them. He will be alone at this time of night. 
You had best stop in the shade of the building.” He 
drew out his watch. “It is only half past nine, and 
we have but a mile more.” 

Soon the lights of the town appeared through the 
scattered pine trees. Hulda was silent, grateful to 
leave all the managing ,to him. La Grange did not 
speak, and walking their horses quietly, they entered 
the town by a back streeet, where they met no one, 
and came up to the stable, a low, unpainted, 
isolated building. 

Hulda drew Lila's rein in the depth of the shadow, 
and La Grange rode unconcernedly into the open 
door, lighted feebly by a lantern that hung at one 
side. 

“Hello, there.” 

A shock-headed boy rolled out of one of the bunks 
in a little room at the right, and came out, closing 
the door behind him. 

“What’s up?” said La Grange with a tone of 
familiarity. “Gone to bed early—dance last night?” 

“Nop.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Nothin’.” 

La Grange deliberately alighted from his horse, 
using his mind and his eyes in the meanwhile. 

“Give my horse a good feed of hay, won’t you? 
And wash him down in the morning.” 

He had been looking down the room at the hind 
quarters of a row of horses. 


THE LINE FENCE 185 

“Could I get another horse here for a night trip? 
Whose horse is that white one there?” 

“That’s Dormses,” said the boy, lifting the saddle 
from La Grange’s tired animal. La Grange smiled 
in the darkness- 

“Who on earth is Dorms?” 

“Friend of mine, sir; stopping here, give him a 
bunk.” 

Well, what of that?” asked the school-teacher 
sharply, as if irritated. 

“Don’t you know, sir? Tried to elope! Can’t get 
no license. Got here, one o’clock last night horses 
all beat out. I knowed Buck. Why, I sheared 
sheep at the old man’s ranch last May. Never had 
so much fun in my life. Buck come here last night 
too bashful to get a room for his girl. I took her 
over to the White Pine Hotel, and Buck staid here 
with me.” 

“What’s the reason they didn’t get married to¬ 
day?” asked La Grange. 

“Couldn’t get no license. Ain’t old enough. For¬ 
got to bring along pairents and garjeans,” and the boy 
chuckled gleefully over his joke. 

“Where is the young man now?” 

“Here in a bunk, asleep.” 

“What are they going to do?” 

“Stranger you don’t live around here?” 

“No.” 

“Traveling?” 

“Been traveling all day.” 

“Well, then, I’ll tell you. We got it all fixed up. 


186 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

They’re going to skip to Sacramento on the train in 
the morning. Nobody knows ’em there, and they 
can swear in, some way.” 

“Well, then, I’ll tell you what you do,” said La 
Grange. “You hire me his horse for to-night. I’ll 
leave mine here, and your young man won’t need his 
horse.” 

The boy saw the profit for himself in the arrange¬ 
ment, and chuckled again. 

“Want him now, sir?” 

“Yes, put my saddle on him, I’m ready in a 
moment.” 

La Grange came out, took Lila’s bit and walked 
further away from the stable. 

“Do you see that lamp hanging from the porch 
across the vacant lot?” he said softly. “That is the 
White Pine Hotel. Millie is there and alone. Ride 
over and strike on a pillar with your whip to call 
some one. Simply state that you came to stay with 
Mr. Bates’ daughter, and ask the proprietor to take 
your horse. To-morrow you can tell Buck I changed 
horses with him. I’m hungry, but I’ll steal some 
peaches from an orchard out of town. Don’t let 
them escape you to-morrow. Coax them to come 
with you if you can. If you can’t do it, no one can. 
But I believe they are determined to elope anyway. 
I will try to arrange for a marriage if I can, and send 
you help. Now, good-night.” 

Hulda gave him her warm, ungloved hand. 

“Oh, how I thank you. How good you are. You 
are so quick-witted, you can do almost everything,” 
she said with warm enthusiasm. 


THE LINE FENCE 


187 


“You are the good one,” he said. “I only wanted 
to help, and save the fame of our picnic. I will ad¬ 
mit to you now, this is a very serious thing—I want 
to see the marriage arranged.” 

He was still holding her hand. You must be very 
tired. Good-night, dear.” 

The word came from him with brotherly tender¬ 
ness. With this last word warming her cheek and 
heart, Hulda galloped Lila up to the porch of the 
White Pine Hotel, rapped with her whip, and both 
the landlord and his wife came out to receive her. 

Upon hearing her simple statement of her errand, 
the landlady bustled around with an apparent feeling 
of relief, and ushered the new-comer upstairs into a 
little room where Millie lay on the bed, and as usual, 
in a state of tearful helplessness. 

When Buck Dorms went to the station early the 
next morning, to meet Millie as arranged, he placed 
himself at a corner where he could look furtively in 
all directions. But suddenly a firm hand was slipped 
through his arm, and he started nervously, to look 
down into the composed smiling face of his teacher. 
He felt a troublesome foreboding that he would be 
detained by some one, but he had expected it in the 
form of some masculine force, that he might elude 
by running around the building and escaping in the 
forest. But to be stopped by the calm-eyed Miss 
Hardy, who had her own peculiar and irresistible 
way of governing him, unnerved him, and unfitted 
him to use his pre-arranged plan of action. 

“Come around to the hotel, Buck, I want to talk 
to you,” she said. 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


188 

“Who’s at the hotel?” 

“No one, only Millie.” 

“Well, I ain’t stopping with Millie, or going any¬ 
where with Millie,” he said, rallying to his line of de¬ 
fense. 

“Well, come and see her, can’t you?” she smiled. 

Buck was apprehensive, and suspected stratagem, 
possibly Mr. Bates or the sheriff. 

“We can talk just as well here,” he said, “or we 
can walk over by them pines there.” He still ap¬ 
preciated a nearness of the trees. 

“Well, that will do,” she said kindly. “Come.” 

In a short distance they were out of sight of the 
straggling first arrivals at the station, and he listened 
patiently while she explained to him the utter folly 
of trying to get married in an illegal way, and urged 
him to wait till he was of age. 

“And Millie and me go home?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she replied hesitatingly. “If her parents 
won’t take her back, I will take her. I feel re¬ 
sponsible.” 

“Not much you wont,” interrupted Buck. “I’ll 
take her myself. She’s not going to be on charity. 
I run off with her, and I’m going to marry her. If 
you’ve stopped us it’s all the same, we’ll get off some 
way in less than a week. It’s time we got married. 
Millie and me’s been engaged ever since we herded 
sheep barefoot. We’re all the time havin’ sort o’ 
rows because we can’t explain to each other, and 
Millie cries too much. I’m goin’ to win this thing 
up. I’ve got a hundred dollars, and lots of fellers 
gets married on less than that.” 



THE LINE FENCE 189 

“But that isn’t it,” Hulda protested. “You’re too 
young, you can’t arrange it legally.” 

Buck laughed. 

“Yes, but Millie ain’t too young for old Bates to 
be scheming to marry her to Bill Cruiks. If I let 
this go by, I’ll lose her sure. Have you talked to 
Millie? What does she say?” 

“She refers everything to you.” 

“Good for her!” laughed the young man. “That’s 
what I told her to do. You’re awful good, Miss 
Hardy. You can stay with Millie if you want to, but 
’tain’t no use, we’re goin’ to run off now, or pretty 
soon after. Father’ll give in if we stay away. He 
wants me home with the sheep.” 

“But Buck,” cried Hulda, “will you keep Millie 
away and not get married?” 

“Don’t care,” he said stubbornly. “Is Bates a 
cornin’ ?” 

“They have discarded Millie forever,” she said 
sadly. “She is mine now, I have taken her.” He 
shook his head; he was whittling a stick violently. 

“I reckon she’s mine.” 

The young teacher found that she had come to a 
stone wall, but she had made up her mind to stay 
with Millie till something could be done. 

The presence of his teacher seemed to develop in 
Buck a more manly and open feeling, and presently 
he walked to the hotel with her, kissed Millie when 
he met her in the hall, and took breakfast with the 
two girls. Afterwards Hulda and’Millie sat in the 
public parlor together, while Buck lounged in and 


I go DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

out, no longer afraid of a sudden attack from some 
Cherry Valley reserve force. For Hulda had finally 
told him that La Grange was trying to make some 
peaceable settlement between the parents for a mar¬ 
riage. 

“You bet,” said Buck, forcibly, “La Grange knows 
well enough that when one of us fellers gets away 
with a girl, we mean business. He’s used to these 
here mountains.” 

Hulda sighed wearily. 

Meanwhile La Grange had undertaken a task that 
was taxing his inventive faculties to the utmost. He 
took breakfast and a few hours of sleep at the Woods’ 
farmhouse. But the anger of father Bates had not 
in the least abated. Mrs. Bates was comforted to 
know just how things were at Forest Grove, but it 
was clear that she had no influence with her husband. 
He was reluctantly willing to agree to a marriage, 
if Dorms gave his consent, but married or not, his 
girl should never come home. La Grange then dis¬ 
covered that the main cause of offense was that a 
certain wealthy Bill Cruiks held the mortgage on the 
Bates’ ranch, and was waiting to marry Millie. Ob¬ 
viously, even in case of Millie’s return, that marriage 
was broken up. 

La Grange found Dorms, as before, smoking in the 
shade of the house. He motioned to La Grange to 
take a seat on a bench near him, listening in stoic 
silence to what he had to say. Mrs Dorms stood in 
the doorway, and the various, dark-eyed little 
Dormses hid around the corners, showing occasion¬ 
ally a glimpse of a black head or a pink dress. 


THE LINE FENCE 


I 9 I 

La Grange calmly stated the case, saying that 
public sentiment demanded that he should either go 
ahead and force his son to come home, or give his 
consent to a marriage. Dorms finally removed his 
pipe, and ejaculated, “Let Buck alone. Why don’t 
they go and get the girl ?” 

“Getting is not keeping,” answered La Grange, 
evasively. 

“Wall, I can’t do nothin’. If I give in and have 
them youngones get married, Bates won’t build that 
line fence from now on to eternity.” 

Both were silent, and La Grange newly discour¬ 
aged, rose to go. He stood grinding his heel reflect¬ 
ively in the ground, when a positive idea occurred to 
him and he turned and sat down. 

“Suppose, Mr. Dorms,” he said, “that we could 
get Bates to agree to put up that line fence. Would 
you then consent to do something?” 

The pipe came out then in a hurry, with scattering 
ashes, and Buck’s father laughed long and loud. 
Mrs. Dorms sat down in the door-way with a sigh. 

“Bates build that fence!” cried Dorms. “Why, 
sir, you couldn’t get him to put up a foot of that fence 
for all the gals in the west. Fight for ten years and 
then put up that fence! Not much. I’ll bet you 
fifty dollars he won’t set a foot of it.” 

“I’m not betting,” answered the amateur diplomat, 
“but I think he’ll put up his half of the fence, if you 
settle this trouble one way or the other.” 

“No, he won’t. Can’t agree on the lines.” Hav¬ 
ing thus settled the affair positively, he went on smok- 


192 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


ing, and La Grange bent his head in his hands in 
silent thought. 

“Why don’t you have it surveyed ?” he asked, after 
a time. 

He had come to the point. It was originally a 
matter of dollars and cents, and still was. 

“Survey,” cried the economical farmer. “I won’t 
pay for no survey to help Bates. I ain’t got no money 
to spend on a survey.” 

La Grange walked to the corner and back, scatter¬ 
ing a flock of little Dormses. 

“Well,” he said, “now, see here. I can survey 
those lines for you, and it won’t cost you a cent. 
I’m not the County Surveyor, but I can get the lines 
all right.” 

Dorms gave a long, low whistle and stared at him 
in studious silence. 

“You’ll survey it, and Bates’ll put up his half of 
the fence, you say?” 

“That’s my proposition.” . La Grange walked 
about nervously and waited. 

Finally the old man rose with a grunt, and walked 
slowly into the low kitchen. Mrs. Dorms had been 
watching, and she followed him, saying eagerly: 

“Sam, that girl of Bateses is the best cook on the 
Creek.” 

Then Dorms opened an old trunk, took out a pack¬ 
age and caried it to La Grange. 

“Here’s my deeds,” he said. “Now you get an agree¬ 
ment from Bates to build his half of the fence, and you 
can tend to the survey when you get ready.” 



Legrange convinces Dorms. 

David of Juniper Gulch. 











THE LINE FENCE 


193 


He returned and conferred with his wife, and came 
and announced the result. 

“I ain’t got no horses up, but if Mrs. Bates will 
come over with their team, me and the old woman 
will go up to Forest Grove with her, and either bring 
them young uns home, or git ’em married, accordin’ 
to how they act.” 

La Grange hurried to Mrs. Bates with the good 
news, saw her start away, then again borrowing 
Buck’s horse, went home to Bird’s Flat. 

It was nearly sundown when Mr. and Mrs. Dorms 
and Mrs. Bates arrived at the White Pine Hotel. 
The two women pleaded in vain with the young peo¬ 
ple to wait a few years, while the elder Dorms sat 
outside and smoked. He would have nothing to do 
with the preliminaries. Later, however, he went 
with his son to hunt up the County Clerk. A license 
was secured, and a Methodist preacher, who happened 
to pass the White Pine Hotel on his way to his even¬ 
ing services, was called in to perform the cere¬ 
mony. 

Then Hulda had another night’s ride, on Lila 
through the canons and the forests accompanied by 
the young Mr. and Mrs. Dorms, the spring wagon 
with the elders rattling behind. 

In her own room, at three o’clock in the morning, 
when she drew her right glove from her warm right 
hand, she held it lingeringly to her lips. It was the 
hand La Grange had held in the darkness at Forest 
Grove. Obviously managing the elopement affair of 
the whilom shepherdess and her swain, was not just 

David of Juniper Gulch 13 


194 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


the best thing for two‘school-teachers, who had not 
the least intention of falling in love with each 
other. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Had La Grange been a practicing lawyer he might 
not have been willing to settle the Cherry Creek feud 
by making a survey of a line fence. He might have 
preferred to see the whole matter go into law, to stay 
in law for several generations. 

As it was, it was the most telling blow he ever 
struck on the wedge of his own popularity in those 
parts. He made no sceret of the fact that he wished 
to be called on by the public for all sorts of friendly 
and neighborly affairs, and perhaps others besides 
Hulda knew of his direct political aspirations. 

Yet the motive for giving away two of his valuable 
Saturdays in surveying a line fence over a rocky hill 
and gulch was not a purely selfish one. A natural 
good-heartedness led him to propose it, and that he 
carried it out correctly was due to the quick witted- 
ness and general ability, that so far in life had been 
his sure and shining star. 

Neither was his motive particularly complex. He 
liked to survey, he liked to settle local difficulties, 
and he enjoyed the public thanks. 

Whether Cherry Valley held further attractions 
for him was not so obvious. La Grange was not given 
195 


ig6 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


to making love as a pastime, and he had no inten¬ 
tion of considering any young woman as a probable 
sweetheart or wife. His mind and heart were set on 
his own particular bright stars of fame and fortune— 
the law, public trust, and possibly public honor. 

He sought the society of the Cherry Creek school 
teacher, as he sought any good thing that was con¬ 
ducive to his ends, openly and with honest frankness. 
So generally did the public look upon him, as a young 
man with a single ambition, that no one thought of 
suspecting him of matrimonial designs. 

His visits to the Woods’ farmhouse occasioned no 
remark, although they might have raised the secret 
envy of certain Bird’s Flat young ladies who would 
have been willing to wait, even seven years for him, 
with very good grace. 

On the Friday evening after the picnic, he arrived 
at the Woods’ home just as the lamp was being 
lighted in the sitting room. He produced immedi¬ 
ately for Hulda’s inspection, several pocket plays of 
Shakespeare and a new book on law, that evidently 
gave him great pleasure. It was an advantage to him 
to know a young person interested in literary studies, 
to whom he could carry every fresh or pleasing 
thought or discovery. 

If the young girl had looked forward, dreading em¬ 
barrassment in their next meeting, that fear was 
pleasantly dispelled by his candid, earnest manner, 
and his lively interest in new thoughts and activities. 

“Perhaps you will think I am stealing time of the 
state,” he said. “I have read King John this week 


SUMMER DAYS 


197 


at my noon recesses. I toss ball half an hour with 
the boys and then I take fifteen minutes for King 
John.” 

The girl simply stated that she knew very little of 
Shakespeare. La Grange looked at her with a slight 
contraction of the brow, peculiar to him. 

“Oh, well,” he said, “that won’t do. You must 
read him. I will leave this Henry the Fifth here with 
you. You will enjoy Katherine any way. Read 
Katherine and King Henry, the last scene first, and 
then you will want to read it all. Now,” he contin¬ 
ued, as she looked into the book, “suppose we sit 
down and see if we can write that French verb from 
memory. I am not very sure I can do it. I have 
been so busy this week.” 

Hulda seated herself opposite to him, and with 
bashful little Trummy Woods hiding his face in her 
lap, she wrote the exercise quite to the satisfaction 
of her exacting teacher. 

After an hour with the books, they joined the 
Woods family in the porch, where they were enjoying 
the starlight and a balmy cooling breeze that had risen 
after the heat of the day. La Grange leaned back, 
and Hulda, sitting on the edge of the porch, could 
see his face in a bar of light from the window. He 
and Mr. Woods began speaking of the proposed sur¬ 
vey on the morrow, and Mrs. Woods turned to tell 
Hulda that she had seen Buck Dorms pass by that 
day with a load of lumber, and that the site of the 
house had been fixed on a certain little hill in sight 
of the schoool-house. Then a bucket of cool, fresh 


198 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


grapes were brought, and La Grange said there were 
no grapes on Bird’s Flat. He prophesied the day 
when Cherry Valley would be set out in oranges. Mr. 
Woods thought it was a wild idea, and Mrs. Woods 
and Hulda retired, leaving them discussing the sub¬ 
ject in all its branches. 

The next evening was spent in very much the same 
way at the farmhouse, and Sunday morning La 
Grange went away in the cool of the morning before 
Hulda awoke. 

The following Friday evening there was more 
French and more Shakespeare in the same quiet way. 
There was some amusement over the fact that Bates 
had employed his new son-in-law to build the line 
fence as soon as the survey should be completed. 

There had been a hot week along the foothill range. 
The red slopes and white rocky river beds grew red¬ 
der and whiter in the glaring sun. The creeks in the 
gorges hushed every day some murmuring sound, and 
became silent behind great rocks, and under banks, 
in deep and mirror-like pools. 

The dusty roads were deserted, and the fruits in 
the home orchards fell to the ground in their luscious 
ripeness, and the children, feasting, refused to go to 
their regular meals. All the slopes and little flats, 
that not many years later, were turned into beautiful 
orchards, lay hot and silent, but for the tinkling 
cowbells in the wooded hollows. 

La Grange, walking over a hot hillside all that 
vSaturday forenoon, had at last found a government 
post, the loss of which had caused local land troubles 


SUMMER DAYS 


199 


for many years. A prospector, wishing to start a 
shaft under a government corner, had thrown out the 
post with his shovel and covered it with the dirt and 
rock from his opening. Having brought it to light 
La Grange sighted the last line inwhich his work was 
concerned, gave Buck a few final directions , and his 
task was done. 

He returned to the Woods’ farmhouse; his books 
were there, and he could go to Bird’s Flat as well in 
the cool of the evening. As he rode slowly along the 
creek road he was conscious of a feeling of oppression 
and weariness unusual to him. His life was one of 
constant toil and application in some way or other, 
and it was not unnatural that he should begin to feel 
its wear this hot day in July. 

At the farmhouse he tied his horse under a tree 
in the lane, and went around to the shaded north 
porch. The Cherry Valley school-teacher was seated 
on the edge of the porch where it joined the little 
wing of her room. Her white dress lay in spotless 
folds around her, and her hands were folded over a 
blue volume in her lap. Her head lay back against 
its frame of dark hair and her eyes were closed over 
the thoughts that were absorbing her mind. She 
had discarded her Alice and Katherine for Aurora 
Leigh. Aurora seemed like a sister and friend, and 
her noble deeds and sweet counsels were comforting 
to her. She did not even dream in her simple virtue 
that she in her one practical deed had been as noble 
as the ideal and elevated English character. She 
could not draw any comparison. She only took 
Aurora to her heart and it comforted her. 


DAVID OP JUNIPER GULCrf 


200 

La Grange, warm, dusty and tired, sat down a§ 
silently as he had come, and looked at the cool, 
charming picture; but only for a moment. Histhrob- 
ing head grew light, and Hulda started up to see him 
leaning against a post, with closed eyes and droop- 
bing head. The girl followed her only impulse, that 
was to run to his aid. She took his head on her arm 
and fanned him violently with his hat. A moment 
after, when he opened his eyes, he felt for a second 
the sensation of being in a new, white world, as en¬ 
trancing as it was fleeting; she had gone, but he 
closed his eyes again to hold the vision of the white, 
round shoulders above his head, and the white face 
and tender dark eyes so close over his forehead. 

She returned quickly with the lounge cushion and 
a glass of water, both of which he accepted speech¬ 
lessly. Then she came again with a handkerchief 
dripping, which she folded on his brow. The color 
was warming up in her face then, and she gave a 
quick sigh of relief, as he lay down with the cushion 
under his head. 

“Now, I am going to call Mrs. Woods,” she said. 
She turned to go, but that moment he was holding 
her hand. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

She darted away. 

Mrs. Woods came with her usual kind solicitation, 
but the girl kept in the background. She had sud¬ 
denly grown shy. La Grange sat up, took a stimu¬ 
lating drink that Mrs. Woods brought, and professed 
himeslf better, and honestly ashamed of his attack of 


SUMMER DAYS 


201 


weakness. He said he had never even felt the sen¬ 
sation of faintness before, but he believed, that for a 
moment, he had been unconscious. Mrs. Woods 
brought out a large rocking chair, which he gratefully 
accepted, and sat slowly recovering, fanning himself 
with his hat. 

Mrs. Woods brought out her sewing, and Hulda 
resumed her former seat and her book, throwing up 
occasionally a shy glance at the patient, who was 
regarding her furtively behind his hat with an expres¬ 
sion and manner quite unlike himself. 

La Grange left at sundown, Mrs. Woods and the 
Cherry Valley school-teacher going with him to the 
orchard gate, where he had left his horse, and both 
expressing regrets to see him go so worn and tired. 
He gave a hand in parting to each of the women, 
they being on opposite sides of his horse, and Mrs. 
Woods did not see that he held the younger woman’s 
hand till she drew it away. 

He turned several times to look back from the 
Creek road to see Hulda’s white-robed form standing 
alone by the gate. His strongest impulse was to 
conjure up an excuse to remain. He had received 
something in the nature of a shock. Some impres¬ 
sion had come to him that he could not define or 
readily cast off. This intellectual, yet strangely 
crude girl, had suddenly seemed to become glorified 
in his eyes, and her existence seemed to come into 
his life with that nearness he thought an own sister’s 
might have. 

He did not define it as love, he had no wish to do 


202 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


that; yet on this occasion it was a privation to go 
away from her. He tried to shake off the impression. 
He called himself a boy, he thought he must be 
homesick. 

At Bird’s Flat he pleaded illness and received a 
week’s leave of absence. The next day he went to 
his mountain home at Rocky Divide, and spent a 
week with the woman he called his mother and the 
children. It was a week of rest. His foster brothers 
and sisters, who were uproarious with delight to see 
him home, would allow no books, and Mrs. La Grange 
wanted his advice about many things. Then it was 
but a rest to him to help the boys get the cattle out 
of the forest, and start them off to market. 

But the young Gherry Valley school-teacher went 
from the orchard gate to her room, and sat down by 
her window, and a few tears fell on the white-robed 
arm, that had been stretched so impulsively to the 
aid of the overworked young amateur surveyor. 

. She threw the blue book out of her sight. “I am 
not good enough to read it,” she said. She was a 
criminal, self accused, and condemned, and why? 

Just why, she did not know. When she bent over 
him to support him with her arm, had her impulsive 
lips touched a wave of dark hair? And if they had, 
did La Grange know it? She felt that she was grow¬ 
ing to be more of a child and less of a woman every 
day. It was the rush of tenderness that came to her, 
as she saw him faint on her arm that accused her. 
It was her feelings more than what she had done. 
She resolved to conquer her weakness, and to punish 


SUMMER DAYS 


203 

herself, should he respect her enough to come again, 
by a stiffness in her manners, which would show him, 
at least, that she had repented, of whatever impro¬ 
priety he might think her guilty. 

He did come several times during her remaining 
two months at Cherry Creek, but he had his habitual 
candor of speech and ease of manner. He had noth¬ 
ing to say to her that any one need not hear, and 
she was glad. She grew in mental strength, personal 
presence and self-control, so that when Mr. Woods, 
at the end of her term, took her in the spring wagon 
back to Hardup, she felt the change that had come 
over her, and appreciated all the practical benefits 
she had received from the tuition of the Bird’s Flat 
teacher. 

No one appreciated Hulda’s new mental and per¬ 
sonal graces more than Joseph Cornman. He noticed 
at once an added spirit and beauty in her eyes, a 
varied expression in her face, and a new sweetness 
in her smile. 

She was more slender also, and seemed taller, and 
her manners were* more studied and graceful. 

Hulda, however, gave but little attention to the 
observing Hardup teacher. She relieved her mother 
of the household cares, and gave all her spare time 
to her reading. She added Chaucer, Spencer and 
Milton to her poets, Bacon, Aristotle and Marcus 
Aurelius to her philosophers. 

Happily David was away and there was nothing to 
prevent the best use of her time. Mr. Cornman ex¬ 
amined her books quizzically, and then added a Roman 
History and Guizot’s France from his trunk. 


204 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


La Grange had gone to Rocky Divide. He had 
said nothing about his future. She looked forward 
to no immediate prospect of seeing him. Anyway 
she wanted to complete a certain amount of reading 
for his approval, when they should chance to meet 
again. 

Cis Beverly came often to the cottage. There was 
a new seriousness in her manner. She had grown 
older in looks, and had lost a manner of forced 
gayety that she brought with her from the city. She 
was cheerful, too, in a quiet way. She was accus¬ 
tomed to slip in at the back door and spend the after¬ 
noon with Mrs. Hardy, Hulda, in her room with her 
books, not knowing of her presence. She sometimes 
brought little articles of clothing she had made for 
Nonie, and Mrs. Hardy would accept them, sighing 
over them when she had gone. Cis became very 
handy with the child. She would rock her to sleep 
whenever she came, and often took her out in the 
orchard for hours. She taught the little one her first 
words, and her first steps, and was so gentle and re¬ 
servedly motherly with her always, that Mrs. Hardy 
opened her heart to the girl, grew newly attached to 
her, and learned to long for the sound of her steps 
in the quiet house. 

Cis, thoroughly reliant on the line of conduct she 
had adopted, loved her friends and was grateful to 
them, as if she herself had not forced them to this 
position. 

As she looked back upon her fall, she abhorred it 
the more, and feared a revelation with greater in- 


SUMMER DAYS 


205 


tensity. But the more settled she became in the 
silence of Mrs. Hardy and Hulda, the less she closed 
her natural heart against the child, and the stifled 
feelings of mother love returned. 

One day the child was feverish, and Cis insisted 
on holding it all the afternoon, and lulled it to sleep 
at last at sundown in her gentle arms. Hulda had 
come down, prepared the evening meal, and rang 
the bell for the teacher, not knowing that Cis was 
in the south bedroom with her mother. When Cis 
came out softly with flushed cheeks and shining 
eyes, Hulda felt a sudden new tenderness for her. 
She had really avoided her since her return. 

When tea was over she snatched a light wrap and 
followed Cis, who was hurrying to get on her way 
home before dark. 

“Let me go a ways with you,” she called, and the 
two girls walked down the lane together, as they had 
done as school-children so many times. 

The hot summer had given away to the smoky 
cooler autumn, and the small inclosed fields and bare 
hills were dun and dry. The high forest covered 
mountains were wrapped in dark blue behind their 
thin, pale haze, and nearer the groves of young pines 
were bright with their evergreen freshness. 

The moon rose dimly over the mountain line. 
Hulda looked from the tender beauty of the autumn 
scene she loved so well, to the pretty downcast face 
of her quiet companion. Her gray dress was so plain, 
yet so exact and dainty in fit. 

She felt a strange pity for the girl surge into her 


206 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


heart, but she was still unreconciled to her bold de¬ 
fiance of those who were helping her. It was still 
an estrangement between them. It was hard to talk 
t,o Cis. She could think of nothing to say. She 
finally, as a last resort, spoke of David. 

“Now, if David had been here,” she said, “I sup¬ 
pose we might have gone to the church social to¬ 
night.” 

“He would have taken you,” answered Cis gently, 
“but me, he never thinks of any more.” 

“But he brought you to the picnic.” 

“Oh, well,” said Cis decidedly, “but that doesn’t 
count.” 

“I wish he would come home anyway,” answered 
Hulda. Not that she did, exactly, but the expres¬ 
sion answered in place of expressing an opinion. 

“Isn’t one lover enough?” cried Cis, sarcastically. 

Hulda started, and her sudden color was not vis¬ 
ible in the dusk. 

“Cis! why I haven’t any lover at all!” 

But Cis laughed. “The ever-devoted Joseph Corn- 
man,” she said in mock earnestness. “Why do you 
keep him in suspense? Dave told me at the picnic 
you were going to marry him sure.” 

“Dave is silly,” said Hulda. 

“I think he is kind and good,” murmured Cis, re¬ 
flectively. She understood her serious and honest- 
hearted friend well enough to know that her sudden 
pang of jealousy had been unwarranted. 

Presently the girls parted with quiet good-nights, 
the one with a pale saddened face, just coming out of 


SUMMER DAYS 


207 


the vortex of trouble; and the dark-eyed girl with the 
proud bearing, and the elastic step of health and 
hope, just entering into the shadow of bereavement 
and sorrow. 

Hulda walked home slowly. The thought of her 
day’s studies passed out of her mind. The fresh night 
air and the moonlight brought memories of Lila and 
the mountain roads. She laid her hand on the gate 
with a smile on her lips. The rose bushes had grown 
up tall and neglected that summer. She felt the 
chill of a presence before she saw the tall form in the 
path before her, but it was not the form that was in 
her mental vision. 

She wanted to push by, and run up the path, but 
the teacher prevented her. 

“Wait,” he said solemnly, stretching his long arm 
before her, “I want to talk to you.” 

“Oh, certainly,” said the girl. She dared not be 
rude, but she shrank back against the closed gate. 

Mr. Cornman paused to give greater emphasis to 
what he wished to say, then came a step nearer. 

“Have you been thinking over my proposition, 
Miss Hardy?” 

The girl was confused and distressed. 

“Why, no. What proposition?” He mistook her 
agitation for emotion. 

“My proposition to make you my wife.” He 
loomed up with horrible nearness. 

“Oh, don’t, please,” cried the girl, throwing up 
her hands before her. “You must not speak of it 
again. You know I can’t.” She still wished to get 
away from him without offending him. 


208 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


The teacher’s voice was husky when he spoke. 

“Why? please explain. You know as well as I, 
that it is the best thing you can do. I can educate 
you and get you a better position, and make some¬ 
thing of you.” 

The girl trembled with anger; she could not an¬ 
swer these selfish inducements. “Oh, I cannot marry 
you, ” she said helplessly. 

“Why? Tell me.” 

His manner of authority frightened her. She was 
losing her self-control. She thought that if she gave 
the true reason, he might listen to her and respect 
her for it. 

' “Oh,” she said spasmodically, “I—I—cannot. I— 

I—I—love another.” 

Then she dropped her face in her hands, red with 
shame, that she had made such an avowal. 

It was a good and sufficient reason, however, to 
Joseph Cornman. His local and temporal ambition 
to possess the bright girl for his wife, ended in con¬ 
tempt for her. 

She had refused him, and for whom? An unedu¬ 
cated and common man. A rude miner, a man who 
made open sport of him. 

“Ah,” he said, in a voice full of bitterness and 
satire. “Ah, and so Strong is a better man than I 
am. Well, I wish you joy. Good-night.” 

He went into the house and left her standing there, 
while the color came back to her cheek and the load 
lifted from her heart. 

“What luck!” she said to herself. “He thinks it is 


SUMMER DAYS 


209 


Dave. I am saved. Poor Dave must bear all the 
blame. Oh, dear, it’s horrid, but I’m glad he thinks 
it is Dave.” 

Mr. Cornman, however, took bitterly the thought 
that David was preferred to himself. As his heart 
had never been affected, it was the slight to his per¬ 
sonality that hurt him, and he was not a man to 
carry offenses lightly. He had no intention of leav¬ 
ing the shelter of Mrs. Hardy’s house, but he was 
determined that the girl should in some way feel his 
power. 

If he had ever been disposed to be a friend to the 
widow’s daughter, he now no longer possessed that 
disposition in any respect. 

And the impression he had received that her young 
affections had been fixed upon David Strong, remained 
with him to be used in after years, as an evidence 
against her on a point of grave moment to the young 
woman. 


David of Juniper Gulch 14 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A SNOWY RIDE. 

Joseph Cornman’s profundity as a scholar, and his 
ability as a teacher, were qualities destined to meet 
with a sure reward in that part of the state, and his 
first step in the chair of the County Superintendent 
of schools was effected. He had been appointed one 
of the members of the County Board of Examination, 
and, when his official notification came, the first week 
in December, he carried it down to' the tea table and 
laid it before Hulda, with his usual manner of repressed 
self-satisfaction. The girl lifted up her bright eyes 
and congratulated him with a few well chosen words. 
She knew his worth and abilities, and she was glad 
others had recognized them. 

After deliberately folding up the letter and putting 
it away in his inner coat pocket, he produced another 
letter and handed it over to her. 

“I did not know you had a correspondent at Forest 
Grove,” he said, making no apology for the fact that 
he had scrutinized her letter. 

Hulda knew the bold, plain writing at a glance. 
La Grange had written to her. She busied herself 
over the serving to try to draw attention from the 
rich, warm color that rose to her temples, but she 
made no remark to satisfy the teacher’s curiosity, and 
did not open the letter until he had gone up-stairs. 

210 



A SNOWY RIDE 


211 


The communication was characteristic of La 
Grange, his practical methods and his warm-hearted 
friendship. 

“I have taken the place of the Forest Grove 
teacher,” it ran. “Next term I will be regularly 
elected to the principalship. The second position will 
be vacant at the end of the term, and if you will for¬ 
ward your application now, I will help you all I can. 
You had best come and see the trustees in person be¬ 
fore the 25th. This position will advance you in 
work and methods much better than any country 
position. Very sincerely, your friend, Edward La 
Grange.” 

The girl threw aside her dignity before her mother, 
and gave expression to her delight, but she decided 
to conceal her new plan from Mr. Cornman. 

In this isolated hill village the matter of a boarder 
was of considerable importance to Mrs. Hardy, be¬ 
sides the teacher was in no way objectionable to her. 
For this reason the daughter had withheld from her 
a knowledge of his fruitless wooing, and with the 
same instinct, she did not wish to excite his jealousy 
or animosity. 

Mrs. Hardy was quite happy and contented with 
the circumstances and surroundings of her quiet life. 
She had a good and promptly paying boarder to 
occupy the house with her when Hulda was away. 
Cis was even growing to be a companion to her. 
Hulda had brightened the house with new carpets and 
furniture, and stored the closets with new dresses 
and wraps. 


212 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


During this lowering and rainy month of Decem¬ 
ber, the widow and her daughter had the house mostly 
to themselves, for the teacher was absent at F orest 
Grove much of the time, looking into the duties and 
responsibilities of his new office. 

David was around, however, making himself at 
home before the cosy sitting-room fire, and it was he 
who engaged a horse and saddle for Hulda on the 
21st, assisted her to mount, and stood with Mrs. 
Hardy watching her as she rode away, happy and 
smiling. 

A neat, black habit set off her now graceful figure, 
and her long skirt swept the side of the glossy, black 
horse. A jaunty boy's cap set closely to her dark 
head, and her sparkling eyes and red cheeks were 
brought out in new brilliancy by her black habit. 

Several window sashes were thrown up as she 
clattered through the main street; an unnecessary 
detour, but the girl was happy and light hearted, and 
she had no aversion to showing herself to the town’s 
people. 

“Ain’t that Hardy girl getting handsome,” called 
one woman, over the fence to her neighbor, as she 
passed, and this was also the first thought that came 
to the mind of young La Grange, when he met her 
at the mounting block of the White Pine Hotel. 

And Hulda, for a moment, did not know the young 
man who came and held out his hand as she alighted 
unaided. She caught her breath and blushed vividly. 
There was a great change in her beardless student 
friend of Cherry Valley—he had grown a mustache. 


A SNOWY RIDE 


213 


He held her hand a moment too long, had there 
been observers,and looked at her with candid admi¬ 
ration. 

“How you have changed!” he exclaimed. 

“But you haven’t, Mr. La Grange,” she said laugh¬ 
ing, with a mischievous glance of meaning. 

She followed him into the large, square parlor of 
the rambling old house, and thought of the pastoral 
drama of Buck and Millie, as she saw the old thread¬ 
bare lounge and other familiar objects. She threw 
her riding-skirt over a chair. Her long black dress- 
skirt was a copy of her riding-skirt and hung in folds 
to her feet. She sat down to talk to La Grange, in 
jaunty cap,gauntlet-gloves, and her riding-whip across 
her lap. 

“And now,” he said, after they had laughed over 
the Cherry Valley people, as they had never dared 
to do at the Woods’ farmhouse, “if you don’t mind 
walking about town with me, we will go and see those 
trustees. It will not take long, for we are not ex¬ 
pected to say much.” 

In fact, La Grange had already said all that was 
necessary, and the trustees had no intention of reject¬ 
ing a candidate offered by so popular a young man as 
the new principal. In less than a hour, she had been 
assured by the three trustees that her application 
would be accepted, and they walked back to the hotel, 
making a sensation among the idlers of the town. 
Standing on the hotel porch she thanked him for his 
help; he lifted his hat formally and went away. He 
had previously told her, however, that he would get a 


214 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


horse and be around about two o’clock to ride part 
way home with her. 

Hulda ate her dinner in the low dining-room, a 
canary singing madly in a corner back of her, and in 
her heart echoed all the glad joy of the song. Her 
life seemed lifted up above the usual plane, and every¬ 
thing before her seemed just as she would have it. 
She felt like a queen, as she ate the under done roast 
and dry pie. She did not even know how they tasted. 
But whether her idyllic, mental condition came from 
the prospect of having a position in the leading social 
center of the county, or the prospect of being near 
La Grange, she did not know. She made no analysis 
of her thoughts; any way she was happy. 

She smoothed her hair and reset her cap in the 
solitary parlor, and settled down in a rocker by the 
fire with a well-thumbed novel she had found on the 
table. 

What with her thoughts and her book, she was so 
absorbed that she did not notice that a tall figure ap¬ 
peared in the doorway, dosed the door, and came 
towards her. Then she heard the step and felt the 
chilling presence of the Hardup teacher, and she 
looked up to see him standing over her, with an un¬ 
usual look of .almost malicious meaning and a positive 
manner of authority. 

He smiled feebly and without waiting for her to 
speak, drew a chair close to her and untied a roll of 
papers he had brought. 

“I am sorry,” he said, deliberately, looking down 
at the papers, “but I understand you are applying for 


A SNOWY RIDE 


215 


a position here, and I came to call your attention to 
a matter which has just lately come to my knowledge, 
and which you ought to take into consideration.” 

Hulda’s book dropped to the floor, and she sat 
erect, waiting breathlessly. 

“I was much surprised last March,” he continued, 
cruelly, with a sharp glance, when you took a First 
Grade Certificate, for I knew that your scholarship 
was not up to the standard in certain things. In 
helping to arrange and pack away, recently, the papers 
of the Board of Examination, I took the trouble to 
look over your old papers, and I find that,” here he 
hesitated and looked up at her, but she sat motion¬ 
less with wide, innocent eyes, “ I find,” he went on, 
“that some one at that time had the fraudulent kind¬ 
ness to mark your papers higher than they deserved.” 

“Oh! Oh!” the girl’s voice was full of surprise. 

He went on slowly, weighing his words to give 
pain, paying no attention to her bewilderment. 

“I also find that your officious friend, Mr. La 
Grange, was assisting the Board, and I had no diffi¬ 
culty in tracing the marking to his pencil. The con¬ 
clusion is forced to my mind that you must have em¬ 
ployed this young man to do this for you—” 

The girl sprang to her feet, with flashing eyes, and 
cried with trembling voice: 

“I did nothing of the kind and you know it, Mr. 
Cornman.” 

Her accuser quailed a little before her anger and 
defiance. 

“Don’t get excited. Sit down,” he said. “We 


2 l6 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


will grant that you did not, but why did he do it ? 
What object could he have had? If it were for 
friendship, it seems to me it was rather impromptu 
friendship.” The tone was more insinuating and 
cruel than the words. It roused the girl to her own 
defense. 

“It was nothing of the kind,” she cried. “There 
is some mistake. Let me see the papers.” 

She sat down and examined the papers, one at a 
time, as he laid them before her. Her eyes, better 
trained than formerly, ran through them quickly, and 
the forgery became apparent. She saw that several 
imperfectly solved problems in arithmetic had been 
marked as perfect. She folded the paper with a 
trembling hand and a white face. She was sick at 
heart. She handed them all back without looking 
further. The facts were against La Grange, what¬ 
ever his motive may have been, and the evidence 
was that her certificate had been fraudulently ob¬ 
tained. She was thoroughly humbled. 

“Are you going to revoke my certificate?” she asked 
in a low broken voice. She covered her face with 
her hands and bowed her head on the table. Joseph 
Cornman was enjoying her misery and his own 
triumph, and he took his time to think over his an¬ 
swer, while he tied up the papers. He really had no 
intention of making the matter public. His political 
instincts told him that he would gain nothing by mak¬ 
ing a public enemy of La Grange. For his own ad¬ 
vancements he needed him as a friend. His main 
object had been the humiliation of the girl who had 


A SNOWY RIDE 


217 


refused him. His secondary object was to keep her 
from taking a position in Forest Grove or Hardup, 
or any other place where he wished to push his own 
influence. He could not make use of her. She 
would only be in the way. 

“Well,” he said slowly, looking over her bowed 
head, “there is no reason why I should proceed 
against you to revoke your certificate. I would ad¬ 
vise you not to teach this winter. You can come 
back in March and pass again, and then burn your 
illegal certificate.” 

“My illegal certificate?” cried the girl, starting to 
her feet. “My illegal certificate shall be burned 
now.” 

Her tormentor rose and came toward her, and she 
shrank back to escape his touch. 

“Don’t get excited,” he said firmly. “I am your 
friend. I will protect you. Don’t do anything rash. 
You can trust me.” 

“But I don’t want to be protected,” said Hulda. 
“It was done without my knowledge and I shall give 
up my certificate.” 

“And ruin your friend?” coldly and sneeringly, 
asked her antagonist, who had gone too far and now 
saw possible damages to himself 

“He deserves to be ruined,” she cried indignantly. 
“I don’t see why he did it.” 

She walked away to compose herself. Presently 
she came back calm and reasonable. 

“You are right,” she said humbly. ‘I shall stop 
teaching and try for a certificate in the spring. But 


218 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Mr. La Grange had no right to do as he did. He 
shall apologize to the Board of Examiantion. He 
must make it right.” 

She walked to the farther end of the room, her head 
bowed over her clasped hands. The Hardup teacher 
cleared his throat, looked at his watch and hesitat¬ 
ingly approached her. 

“But it was my duty to tell you, Miss Hardy. I 
did not intend that it should go any further.” 

“Oh, certainly.” 

She did not turn or move. He quietly took his hat 
and went out of the room. His object had been ob¬ 
tained, as far as he had an object. He wished the 
girl to feel that in losing him, she had lost her most 
useful friend, and his conviction was that she was 
now overwhelmed with that loss. 

But it was not that loss, or any material loss of 
her own that the girl felt so deeply. An idol lay at 
her feet. She had been worshiping a false god. 
La Grange had plainly committed a petty deception 
to help a young woman he had suddenly become in¬ 
terested in, that woman herself. 

She had held her head high, and her heart was 
pure and noble, but everywhere her feet seemed to 
be led into the mire. Appearances were somehow 
always against her to show that she was conniving 
with deception. She thought bitterly of Cis and her 
blind sacrifice for her. But this was not like that. It 
seemed to take a support from her young life. Were 
none good, and honest, and noble? None at all? But 
him. She could not bear to think that he possessed 
the slightest fault. 


A SNOWY RIDE 


219 


La Grange came, and found her standing silent 
and motionless, her two hands behind her firmly hold¬ 
ing each end of her riding-whip. She did not hear 
him till he spoke, then she lifted a white face that 
had grown strangely old and sad since he last saw it. 

“What is it ? Are you ill?” 

He took hold of her arm with gentle solicitude. 
Then she lifted her head proudly. 

“No, but I am ready to go home. Come, Mr. La 
Grange, I want to talk to you.” 

He followed her silently, wondering. He had 
never seen this gentle girl like this. He put her on 
her horse, and then, together, both handsome, erect, 
well-mounted, they galloped down the main street, 
La Grange touching his hat right and left to ac¬ 
quaintances. 

La Grange knew what she had not perceived; that 
it was very cold. The light, fleecy clouds gathering 
all the morning, had settled together into strange 
looking low clouds drawing from the east. 

But the change in the atmosphere had not chilled 
him as did the sudden change in the manner of his 
companion. He- let her have her own way of con¬ 
duct, however, watching her wonderingly as he kept 
up with her flying gallop, till they reached a narrow 
road through a grove of young pines. Then he 
reached out with a strong, quick movement, grasped 
her bridle reins, and drew both horses to a stop. 

“We have had quite enough of this,” he said firmly. 
“Why are you treating me this way, after I have been 
engaged in doing you a service. What is it, please. 
Miss Hardy?” 


220 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


She turned a white face frankly towards him. 

“You have done me a strange service. You have 
nearly ruined me,” she said sadly. “Oh, what were 
you thinking of, to do such a thing?” 

La Grange dropped her horse’s rein and regarded 
her with open amazement. 

“Do? The deuce! What have I done now? 
Danced again?” 

“Well, you shall know,” she said. “You marked 
up my papers last spring, and got me a fraudulent 
certificate.” 

He gave a long, low whistle. 

“And that Cornman has hunted them up and been 
looking them all over. Oh, the dickens he has! 
Well, the low, sneaking dog! What do you think 
of such a low-lived action as that?” 

The horses were moving on slowly, and she timidly 
looked up at his flushed face. In his indignation he 
was not carefully choosing his words. 

“It is your action I am speaking of,” she said, with 
forced firmness and composure. 

He laughed then. 

“Only this, Miss Hardy. I tried to please you, 
and have offended you, and he tried to offend you, 
and has pleased you.” 

“Oh, no, no, don’t say that.” She turned away 
her head, and he grew serious, as he noted her 
trembling voice. 

The horses with loosened reins walked slowly, and 
when he spoke again his voice was more kind. 

“Well, as I am found out,” he said, “I may as 


A SNOWY RIDE 


221 


well confess. I did mark up a few of your papers, 
but I did it with the kindest of motives. I knew of 
you before I saw you that day. My foster father 
knew your father and worked under him. I remem¬ 
ber very well the time your father was killed. My 
father lode horseback thirty miles to the funeral. 
When you came before the Board I didn’t want you 
to fail. I knew it would hurt your future chances. 
Now, wasn’t that kind?” But she was silent with 
averted face. 

“But the matter is not what you think it is. Your 
foxy Mr. Joseph Cornman is too fast. He is caught 
in his own trap. Some of your papers were very fine, 
and when I looked them all over later, I saw that 
your best papers would have made up the required 
per cent any way. In fact the Superintendent 
noticed my markings, reproved me for my errors, as 
he supposed them, and granted you the certificate on 
your own merits. So you see the old fox has put 
his foot in it, and what have you to blame me for, 
Miss Hardy?” 

Hulda lifted her face, and she smiled faintly. It 
was some relief to her to know that her position was 
clear and honest but her eyes were on the rocky bed 
of the graded road they were descending. She was 
silent. 

“Why do you condemn me?” he said. “Have you 
no forgiveness for an innocent man?” 

A warm color surged to her cheeks. They rode 
under the tall pines, that lifted long, ragged arms 
over the roadway. He then leaned over, seized the 


222 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

bridle rein and stopped the horses close together. 
He leaned forward to try to look into her downcast 
eyes. 

“Come, come, Hulda, child, forgive a man who 
pleads for forgiveness. I confess it was cool impu¬ 
dence.. I had no right to do it.” 

She finally looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. 

“Very well. Please drop the rein, Mr. La Grange.” 
Shespokewith an effort, and her cheeks-were scarlet. 

The horses moved on and La Grange twirled his 
whip, with a perplexed look. She glanced at him 
nervously and spoke more calmly. 

“There is nothing to forgive. I wouldn’t care for 
myself, even if it had injured me, but it is yourself; 
it is the wrong you have done yourself.” 

“How?” He stopped his own horse in his sudden 
surprise, but she rode on and he followed. “How 
have I Vronged myself, pray? Cornman, the old 
fox, will never say a word. It would kill him in this 
county, and he knows it. Besides he knows that the 
County Superintendent would kick him out of his 
place if he finds out he has been tampering with old 
records. And you,” he reached and took her glove 
hand that hung by her side, “you will forgive me, 
won’t you?” 

But she drew the hand away and looked up to him 
with scarlet cheeks and pleading eyes. 

“But do you forgive yourself ? I think it was a 
dishonest act, any way, Mr. La Grange. It was not 
noble—it was deceit. I did not think you could do 
anything of that kind.” 


A SNOWY RIDE 


223 


He did not share in her misery, and laughed, but 
with an uneasy tone. 

“Well, I should say! That is a fine point to draw 
on me. You call a well-meant favor an ignoble 
deed. You are complimentary. How would I ever 
succeed in this world if I drew such fine points? 
How am I to educate my foster brothers and spend 
my time splitting hairs like that? Well, well. What 
do you think of my representing myself to be older 
than I am, to get the-Forest Grove school. I had 
to do it. Why,I am going to have pupils older than 
myself.” 

The girl’s bowed face was turned from him, and 
she made no reply. But her silence troubled him 
and his face was more serious than his words were. 
She rode on, the tears in her eyes blinding her. She 
did not know that occasionally a white flake of snow 
fell on her cap. The annoyance the young man felt 
to be attacked on a point of honor, was somewhat 
soothed by the deep and sincere interest his compan¬ 
ion evinced, but she did not seem to accept his ex¬ 
planation. 

They came to a little flowing spring in the bank of 
the road, and both horses thrust their noses into it. 
La Grange slid to his feet to tighten his saddle girth, 
then he went between the horses. 

“Well, if I am not honest,” he said sarcastically, 
“at least I am good enough to be allowed to tighten 
your saddle girth. ”- 

He looked up to see a glistening tear drop onto 
her glove. 


224 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Now, this is too much,” he said, going around to 
her side. “I can’t have a girl crying for my bad 
deeds. Why do you care, Hulda? What differ¬ 
ence does it make?” He was looking up into her 
face, that she had lifted proudly, then a light broke 
in upon him. “Is it because, because,” he reached 
and imprisoned both her hands; “well, say because 
you might have loved me?” 

She freed one hand now to shield her face. 

“If you think so badly about.it, why think of me! 
I wanted your trust and faith. It was everything 
to me. I have lived upon it; but I wanted you to 
think I was better than I am. I loved you, as a 
man loves his right hand, but I wouldn’t have told 
you so, though, now. I have felt that you were the 
woman God made for me, and I was patient to wait. 
I wish I were good enough for you. I would like to 
kiss those tears away, but I love you too much, to 
ask you to forgive a man you despise.” 

His hat in his hand, he dropped his dark head in 
her lap. A flake of snow fell on his hair. With a 
swift movement she brushed it away, and then yield¬ 
ing to her impulse she let her hand rest on his head. 

“Edward,” she said softly. 

“Yes, dear.” 

“I don’t despise you, I can’t, but I am so sorry 
about these little things. That was wrong. I wish 
you would change your principles—” 

But that was placing it upon too serious ground. 
It could but offend him. He had received no scru¬ 
pulous Methodistical training. He turned away, im¬ 
patiently. 


A SNOWY ride 


225 


“Oh, have done with my principles. You are 
Puritanical, foolish, wild. If this silly thing can part 
us, we had better part now.” 

This was a boy’s cruelty. The girl’s physical 
strength forsook her. She had been under long ex¬ 
citement. She slipped from her saddle and leaned 
against her horse, sobbing and trembling. 

Then he took her in his arms and drew her face to 
his shoulder. 

“God bless you, my dear girl. I half ^believe you 
do love me, or might love me, or ought to love me, 
enough to forgive me.” He kissed her white cheek. 
“My darling girl, tell me.” 

But she freed herself and caught up her long skirt. 

“Oh, see how it snows! Mr. La Grange, please 
put me on my horse.” 

But he held her arm. “A moment ago you called 
me Edward.” 

She turned away her face. She had grown rigid, 
and her face was as white as the flakes of snow piling 
on her cap. 

“Oh, please,” she murmured, “I must go—see the 
snow.” 

He put his two hands on her cheeks and turned 
her face to his. But there was no look of forgive¬ 
ness in her sad, dark eyes. He kissed her brow rev¬ 
erently, took her bridle reins and held his hand for 
her mounting. She placed her foot in his palm and 
sprang into the saddle. He took his overcoat from 
his saddle and offered it to her. 

“Oh, no,” she said, “I’ll not take it. You have 

David of Jfcnipa* Gulch 15 


226 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


four miles to go and you will need it. I am near the 
top of the last grade. I will soon be home.” She 
held out her hand. “Thank you, and good-by, 
Edward La Grange.” 

He took her hand. “I will irjeet you when school 
opens.” 

“I fear not. After I saw Mr. Cornman I wrote a 
letter and withdrew my application.” Then she low- 
ered her face, for the crimson tide was coming back 
to her cheek. “I had rather go back to Cherry 
Creek, anyway.” 

“I presume so,” he said, “from what you have said 
to me to-day.” 

She snatched her hand with a swift glance. She 
would lose her self-control again. 

“You don’t understand me,” she cried. She had 
loosened her rein, and the impatient horse bounded 
away. 

She told her mother everything necessary to ex¬ 
plain her change of plan. She thought of her, as she 
dashed home through the falling snow, as her noblest 
companion, her best and dearest friend. She knew 
that her mother would commend her course, and 
just now, she wanted the comfort that it would give 
her. 

And her mother did commend her, and praise her. 

“You’re just like your father,” she said. “He’d 
give up everything for a point of principle. Mr. 
Cornman did right; we can’t blame him, and because 
he was really mistaken does not alter the right of 
the thing. While I think Mr. La Grange really 



A Subject lor a Painting. 


David ol Juniper Gulch. 

















A SNOWY RIDE 


227 


meant to do a dishonest thing at first. Now, do go 
up-stairs, Hulda, and change your damp clothes.” 

But the girl in her own room kissed her cap as she 
took it off. She had not told her mother all, of her 
struggle with love and the pain that lay on her heart 
with the image of her fallen idol. And she was glad 
afterward and forever that she had not given her 
good mother unnecessary pain. 

But she went that night alone to the old brown 
Methodist Meeting house, and she was kneeling on 
the cold, bare floor as the gray haired minister prayed. 

“Lord,” he said, “lead us not into temptation. 
Spare our dear young people. We pray that they 
may be led aright, may they spurn evil, and think 
of that which is good. Lord help our dear young 
people.” 

But referring it to the Lord was about all the good 
man ever did, to search out the paths by which his 
young people might be led into temptation. Yet the 
girl was comforted. There were temptations; the 
minister evidently knew that. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MRS. CORNMAN. 

New Year’s day was a day of unusual excitement 
at the Hardy cottage. Cis came in the morning, try¬ 
ing to appear as gay and light-hearted as in the old 
days before she went away. 

Hulda, in her oldest dress, had swept, and gar¬ 
nished, and baked, till she was tired and nervous. 
Mrs. Hardy busied herself giving directions, and fin¬ 
ishing a dress for her daughter to wear in the evening. 
David made his usefulness and his noise predominant, 
and Hulda was the principal sufferer from his non¬ 
sense. 

“Cut out, skunked, and jilted forever,” he cried, 
laughingly, as he stood upon a chair to hang a pict¬ 
ure Hulda had dusted. “Who’d a thought it, Hulda, 
that you’d get left in this way. Married! This beast 
a hanging.” Then he sat down by Cis, who was 
whipping a plate of eggs to a froth, and drew from 
his pocket the Forest Grove Mountain Messenger. 
He read aloud for the tenth time that day the item 
that caused him so much merriment. 

“The popular and efficient teacher from Hardup, 
Mr. Joseph Cornman, was married on Christmas day 
at Sacramento at the Imperial Hotel. The lady, who 
was Miss Aurelia Hawthorne Stalker, had just arrived 
328 


MRS. CORNMAN 


22Q 


from Branchtown, Vermont, and is somewhat known 
in that state as a writer of juvenile stories. It is 
rumored that the engagement was of many years 
standing. Both parties receive the warm congratu¬ 
lations of Mr. Cornman’s many friends fn this 
county.” 

“Now, Hulda, isn’t this awful?” 

But Hulda and Cis had both fled from the room 
and he was left laughing alone. 

Mrs. Hardy had received a brief message from the 
teacher that he would arrive with his bride on New 
Year’s day, and David had constituted himself a com¬ 
mittee to arouse the entire town to the importance 
of the occasion. 

It was decided to give him a reception, and that 
meant, that every one in town who felt an interest, 
men, women and children, would crowd into the little 
home that evening to see the bride, “have refresh¬ 
ments,” and enjoy themselves in a social way. 

The “refreshments,” as a supper to be passed 
around was always called, sprang up like manna in 
the wilderness, and David was sent for from all over 
the town to carry the baskets to the cottage. It was 
holiday time and it was a matter of gratification to 
every one, that something had happened to give oc¬ 
casion for more local excitement and amusement. 

But doing errands, blacking stoves, hanging pict¬ 
ures and sweeping garden walks, could not so entirely 
utilize David, but that he had time to make his pres¬ 
ence felt. 

While Hulda was rubbing the window-panes in the 


230 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


dining-room till they shone like the clear, cold air 
outside, he was kneeling close by rubbing a chair 
with a bit of oil on a flannel. 

Cis Beverly was by the little stove hushing Nonie 
to sleep. David thought he would abandon his teasing 
of Hulda for a while, and begin something else. 

“Cis,” he said, but not looking at her at all, “you 
make a tiptop nurse. You take to it like a pan to a 
pick and shovel. Now if that city fellow of yours 
could see you, he’d locate some rock and gravel and 
stay here.” 

“Oh, Dave, you are dreadful.” Hulda turned upon 
him angrily, and threw her damp towel over his head. 
Then she dragged him blindfolded into the kitchen. 

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, you rude man? 
You sha’n’t tease that poor girl so. Say what you 
please to me, but let that poor girl alone.” 

“Nonsense, I said nothing to hurt her feelings,” 
insisted David. “I was only experimenting a little 
on my own account.” 

“Then don’t say such rude things,” said the girl, 
soberly. A moment later Hulda found Cis in the bed¬ 
room bending a white face over the crib. 

“Never mind, Cis,” she said, “David didn’t mean 
anything. He sha’n’t speak so rudely to you again.” 

Cis did not look up or reply. Hulda pressed her 
hand gently, and went from the room. 

When the stage drove up to the door that evening, 
the little house was full to overflowing. As David 
said, the parlor was full of “swells;” one or two mine 
owners, a store-keeper, the doctor, and the minister, 


MRS. CORNMAN 


23I 


and their wives. A strong representation of Method¬ 
ists filled the sitting-room; matrons with cakes in 
their hands crowded into the warm little kitchen, and 
the school-boys and girls filled the hall. 

“I appreciate this little surprise. It is a most 
graceful compliment, I assure you,” the tall teacher 
was saying to Mrs. Graceway at the door, while the 
pastor stood shaking the hand of Mrs. Cornman once 
and again. The first words she had spoken won the 
heart of the gray haired minister. 

“I am glad to meet my pastor first,” she had said. 
“I am a life-long Methodist.” 

She then removed her wraps, and in a neat bonnet 
and traveling dress, was introduced through the rooms 
by the delighted pastor. 

Whatever Mrs. Cornman, who had come out to 
California to marry her old lover, now thought of 
him, it was evident that her old lover could not but 
be more than pleased with his bargain. 

Hardup people were delighted. She was a valu¬ 
able addition, and they all said so to each other as 
she moved out of hearing. A tall, well formed, 
healthy looking woman, with affable manners, and 
fine gray eyes. Her face showed culture, intelligence 
and strength of character. 

She had a pleasant greeting for all, a word of wit 
here and there and a warm and patronizing manner 
for the children. 

Exactly her equal had never before been seen in 
Hardup. 

“She’s all Boston,” said a grizzly prospector, 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


232 

proudly, who was known to have come from some 
where “along shore.” 

She’s a real, genuine New Yorker,” said another, 
with a reflective air of knowing. 

“She's too tony for these parts,” whispered a young 
native son. 

“I think she could superintend our Sunday School,” 
said Mrs. Graceway to a stolid matron. 

David pulled Hulda’s sleeve in a corner of the hall. 

“Never mind, Hulda,” he whispered, insinuatingly, 
“cheer up! It’s a fair beat. She takes the cake.” 

“Indeed she does,” answered the girl warmly. “I 
think I shall like her ever so much. I am glad she 
has come.” 

Then she sighed so heavily, as she stood there, 
that David’s attention was arrested, and he turned 
and scrutinized her face for a moment with attentive 
seriousness. 

Had she really learned to like the teacher? But 
Hulda was thinking of Mrs. Cornman. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


DARK DAYS. 

Spring came to the Placer regions like a festival of 
green and gold. The green grass spread out over 
the openings, and began to wave over the edges of 
the high red bluffs; the yellow buttercups appeared 
on the warm hill sides, heralding a fairer host, and 
the warm poppies trooped out aflame in the rich 
meadows. 

The days were clear and shining, and the rocky 
slopes sparkled in the distance. The roads were 
firm and hard, the forests were new with budding 
verdure, the creeks and gulches ran foaming with 
spring freshets, and the canons were odorous with 
blooming shrubs. 

One Saturday, two horsemen were riding over the 
country between Forest Grove and Hardup. Wher¬ 
ever a tunnel, a line of sluice boxes, or a shaft and 
windlass, indicated mining operations, they left the 
road and made an examination of the property. 

The elderly man, a well dressed portly, florid gen¬ 
tleman, was making a list of mining property for sale, 
and the younger man, who seemed to know the 
country and the people thoroughly, was showing him 
about and answering his questions. 

3S* 


234 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Giving his evenings to reading law, and spending 
his days in the school-room, La Grange had found it 
quite advantageous to his health to spend his Satur¬ 
days in the open air. A real estate firm of Forest 
Grove were glad to employ a man of such superior 
talent to show strangers about the vicinity. 

“All 1 want to do,” said the elder man, as they 
rode along, “is to make sales. I’ve been doing a good 
business up around Grass Valley lately. You see I 
have a partner there, and I send up the victims from 
the city, mostly Easterners—not exactly victims, you 
know, for we agree to sell the mine for a man, if he 
don’t like it. Then he’s so anxious to get his money 
back that, he turns in and helps me sell it, so we keep 
turning the same mine over and over. Now if you 
want to go in with me here, you can make something 
out of this, eh? A good chance for a young man like 
you. And if you know how to carry a little ‘salt’ 
around in your pocket, you can keep the ball rolling. ” 

La Grange looked at the stranger furtively, and his 
face grew a shade graver. 

“You see I don’t want a Company. All I want is 
a man in good standing, like you, to do a little salting 
and talking, and keep mum. Too many spoils the 
game. I mean business now. What do you think?” 

La Grange looked as if he were thinking a good 
deal, but he said nothing. 

“You see,” continued the florid gentleman, “you 
won*'t get into trouble, for all the kicking is done to 
us in the city, and if a man threatens to make trouble, 

I buy him out myself. But the majority of men 


DARK DAYS 


235 


won’t fight, you know. But it takes a woman to 
kick up the devil of a row, if she ain’t treated just 
right. I’m a woman hater myself.” 

“Women are more honest than men,” said La 
Grange. 

“Not all of them. My partner in the city is a 
woman. She keeps a high class lodging house, and be¬ 
tween us we take in the tenderfoots, I can tell you.” 

“Then you admit your business is not honest.” 

“Oh, no, not at all, I don’t. We handle good 
property, and a man can take his choice. You can’t 
help it, if people are fools. For instance, you tell 
me certain things about these mines. If I believe it 
all, are you to blame?” 

La Grange turned squarely in his saddle. 

“Hold on a minute, sir.” 

The stranger threw out his hand. 

“No offense, no offense, I assure you. I said, for 
instance. Oh, you can’t talk to me. I know all 
about mines.” 

La Grange scowled and drew his hat down over his 
eyes. He was getting an excellent antidote for his 
own diseases, and for a moment he felt the strong men¬ 
tal sickness of those who suddenly see their own 
follies. 

The two men came into Hardup at noon and 
stopped for dinner at the principal hotel. After din¬ 
ner they occupied two arm chairs on the shaded porch 
in front, while several idlers were occupying seats 
around them, smoking and chewing with apparent in¬ 
difference, but in reality eagerly listening for every 


236 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


word of gossip that might be current in the town and 
country. 

“Well, what’s the news down here?” said La 
Grange, patronizingly, to a thin, sallow little man 
on his right, a person named Bealy, who peddled 
apples in the summer season, and peddled as much 
gossip as he dared to, all the time. 

Bealy laid down the county paper and yawned 
lazily. 

“Oh, not much. Nothin’ in particular. You 
heard the widow Hardy was dead.” 

“Why, no!” 

“Died yesterday. Had pneumonia terrible! Bur¬ 
ied Sunday, at one o’clock. Awful sudden death!” 

“Well, well, 1 hadn’t heard of that!” 

“Yes, and I guess arter the funeral, they’ll start up 
that old talk about that baby, for folks are bound to 
know the truth, you know.” 

La Grange, having no desire to encourage gossip, 
pulled his hat over his eyes and was silent. 

Another gossip spoke up behind him. 

“Oh, fiddle! I believe it was just as they said. It 
is some cousin’s baby. You’d better shut your 
mouth. David Strong was blustering around here 
this morning, and he says he’ll shoot the first man 
that says a word about the widow’s daughter.” 

“He’d better shoot himself,” said the first gossip. 
“Folks say it’s his’n. All of a sudden the winter 
’fore this, they had a baby there. The girl she went 
to the city and brung it back, said it was a cousin’s, 
you know. Looks curious but of course I don’t 


DARK DA_ r S 


237 


know nothin’ about it. But they say Hulda, that’s 
the girl, don’t care nothin’ about it, Of course folks 
wouldn’t talk if either of the women would tell any¬ 
thing. There’s that Beverly girl—she done a pretty 
thing for a slip of a girl like her. When the widow 
died she bundled up the baby and took it home. She 
told around that if Hulda’s cousin never came for the 
young one, she’d keep it.” 

La Grange rose and walked away, but with clenched 
hands and compressed lips; he would like to ■ have 
knocked the apple peddler into the middle of the 
street. But it was clearly not his place, and would 
have occasioned more talk. He went around to the 
hotel stable and stood in the door with a very sad 
and grave expression on his face, while the horses 
were being saddled. The nobest and best woman he 
ever knew was in serious trouble, and he could do 
nothing to help her. Any bungling interference 
would only make matters worse. “Any way,” he 
thought, “I can come to the funeral to-morrow, and 
show respect in that way.” 

When he came around to the front of the house 
the florid stranger was there alone conversing with 
the apple peddler, whose tongue was running freely; 
but he came immediately, and they mounted and 
rode out of town. La Grange was not in a talkative 
mood, and the stranger, after taking a cursory glance 
at the little Giant Mine near Hardup, said, he would 
go back to Forest Grove. 

Max Royse, mining sharp, real estate agent and gen¬ 
eral speculator, had lost his interest in the mines 


238 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


around Hardup. He had discovered a mine that 
was loaded, and liable at any moment to explode 
about his feet. The evidence was all circumstantial, 
but if the girl, Hulda Hardy, had brought home an 
infant, if Cis Beverly was home and strangely inter¬ 
ested in that infant, he preferred not to be around if 
any investigations were in progress. Then he began 
to suspect that there had been some flaw in the 
management of Mrs. Minerva Ellis. 

Meanwhile all was dark and silent in the rooms of 
the Hardy cottage. Hulda’s gentle, pure-minded, 
kind-hearted mother, her only one to love in the 
world, had passed away. David had come for her 
with a buggy to Cherry Valley—she had arrived just 
in time to see the last helpless, labored hours of her 
mother’s life. 

Mrs. Cornman was everything, and did everything. 
All that a skillful nurse could do she had done, and 
no one could be more wise, kind and helpful. She 
gave the stricken girl her seat by the bedside, and 
waited upon her with the most tender and watchful 
solicitation. But Hulda was slow to see the signs 
of death, and only near the last did she whisper anx¬ 
iously when no one was near. 

“Mother, mother, what shall I do about Nonie? 
Shall I tell?” 

“Hulda, be kind—protect—be true b—e good,—” 
came the labored answer with a pressure ot the hand. 

When it was all over Mrs Cornman had led the 
girl to her own room, while she established the order 
of sorrow in the little room. 


239 


DARK DAYS 

At midnight Cis, who had been rocking Nonie in 
a corner of the kitchen, because there was no place 
to go with her, crept up the stairs, knocked at 
Hulda’s door and went in with the child. 

She locked the door, laid the sleeping babe on the 
bed, and turned to Hulda, sitting by the window. 

Cis had been weeping all night; her old strength 
and courage were gone. She knew what she had 
lost. She knew that Hulda could not do as her 
mother had done. But Cis had resolved to throw 
herself on the large mercy of her young friend. She 
fell at her feet, clasped her waist, and with tears and 
sobs, told her the sad story of innocence, deceit, 
wrong and misery. She thought the affair of the bas¬ 
ket, and how it had come to be in Hulda’s room, 
had been some blunder of the Chinese servants; but 
the rest she told, just as it had happened, the true 
name of her betrayer and all. Hulda shuddered. 
“And oh, Hulda,” she sobbed, “you and your mother 
have saved me. You kept my secret till I learned 
to live it down, and now it will ruin me to have it all 
come out. I want to live a good life.. I want grand¬ 
ma to die happy, and oh, Hulda, you will save me, 
won’t you? People think it is your cousin’s baby. 
Let them think so always, and I will take Nonie home 
to take care of her, and you can come and live with 
us too, some, won’t you? I was bad in my heart 
when I came home, Hulda, I was wicked; but you 
have been so noble and good, I want to be like you.” 

Hulda laid her own trembling arm around the girl. 

“Cis, dear, why should I harm you? Take the 


240 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


child; I never could love it, you know that, but I 
will protect you and save you. I promised my 
mother I would, and I will.” 

Then the fountains of her own grief were unsealed, 
and she broke down in tears and cries. 

Later Mrs. Cornman, coming in to see what could 
be done for Hulda, found the girls weeping quietly, 
locked in each other’s arms, and she was glad. 

“Hulda is crying,” she said to her husband. “I 
think she will be all right, now.” 

The funeral conducted by the Rev. Graceway was 
the most properly conducted funeral that had ever 
taken place in Hardup. Mrs. Cornman, whom every 
one loved and admired, gave all the directions, and 
in everything she was implicitly obeyed. She kept 
Hulda in strict retirement, as it seemed most proper 
in the case of an orphan girl. She saw no one but 
Cis, not even David, and she asked for no one. She 
entered the church dressed in deep black and heavily 
veiled, leaning on the arm of Mrs. Cornman; grand¬ 
pa and grandma Beverly came next, and Mr. Corn- 
man followed with Cis, also in black, but not veiled. 
David was one of the pall-bearers. 

After the remains had been borne out of the church, 
Mrs. Cornman tarried a moment in the vestibule and 
allowed the friends to speak to Hulda as they passed 
out. A great many took her hand and tried to say a 
comforting word, but every word spoken swelled the 
burden on her heart, till she leaned on Mrs. Cornman 
and saw and heard nothing. 

A young man, lingering behind the women and 


DARK DAYS 


24I 


girls came forward timidly and tried several times to 
speak to her. He offered his hand, but she made no 
sign of recognition, and looked straight before her. 
He would have assisted Mrs. Cornman to put her in 
the buggy, but she turned away. He stood and 
watched the procession move away, then sat on the 
church steps a while, very sad and evidently troubled; 
he afterward mounted his horse and rode towards 
Forest Grove. 

The next day Hulda was Mrs. Cornman’s only 
care. She was alone in the house with her, and 
gave her undivided attention to the stricken girl. She 
did not try to bring her out of her room, for the 
sight of the lonely rooms would be a new grief. She 
brought some tea and toast to her, gathered her a 
bunch of poppies in the orchard, then after she had 
read to her from her own well marked Bible, Hulda 
seemed comforted and held the hand of her new 
friend, and thanked her over and over for everything 
she had done. 

“It was a pleasure to do for you,” said Mrs. Corn- 
man, “You have borne it beautifully, but there is one 
• thing, you should have noticed the attentions of all 
the kind friends whether you liked them or not.” 

“Oh, I did,” said Hulda. 

“No, you was quite rude to one man. He was 
one of the last to speak to you at the church. You 
refused to speak to him or give him your hand.” 

“Who was he? I don’t remember any man at the 
last.” 

“Didn’t you see a nice looking young man, quite 

David of Juniper Gulch 16 


242 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


handsome, offer you his hand several times just as we 
came out?” 

“I didn’t see any young man, Mrs. Cornman, what 
did he look like?” 

“He was rather tall, with dark hair, and a strong, 
blue gray eye, and a dark mustache. He was well 
dressed, and did not look like a working man. He 
seemed hurt that you would not see him, and looked 
very sad. You shouldn’t have treated any one so.” 

“Mrs. Cornman, I didn’t see him, I know I didn’t. 
It was very kind of him to come. Oh, Mrs. Corn- 
man!” 

She broke down and cried bitterly. Nothing could 
comfort her. In the afternoon Mrs. Cornman came up. 

“There is a young woman here,” she said, “and 
insists on seeing you. She doesn’t give her name. 
See what she has brought.” 

She showed her a basket of the first strawberries 
of the year, packed in green leaves. 

“I’m coming anyway,” said a sweet voice on the 
stairs. “My dear, dear teacher, I had to come. 
You came to me once when I was in trouble.” And 
Millie, fresh, sweet and loving, rushed into her arms 
and kissed her over and over again. 

Simple, guileless, innocent and loving, Millie 
brought comfort to her teacher’s heart. Hulda looked 
back through Millie’s liquid blue eyes to the sweet 
days when Cherry Valley was her paradise, her hero 
walked before her sight unblemished as a god, and 
all was well with her life. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE INQUISITION. 

After the first burst of anger had exhausted itself, 
David took refuge in silence. Indeed he had been 
rather roughly reminded by a few that “the less said 
the better.” Though resenting the implication of 
such remarks he recognized the wisdom and con¬ 
tained himself accordingly. But his kind heart was 
too deeply troubled to let the days pass away with¬ 
out doing something towards dispelling the ugly 
rumors that floated on the street. 

He had no intention of having anything to say to 
Mrs. Cornman. Her general efficiency, precision and 
correct grammar subdued him thoroughly in her pres¬ 
ence. He could think of only one person, to whom 
he was willing to speak on the subject. The Rev. 
Graceway would be a true friend to the bereaved girl, 
and would no doubt find a way to put an end to 
these rumors. 

He knocked one evening at the outside door of the 
pastor’s study, in the parsonage among the pines back 
of the church. The good pastor was surprised to see 
David standing in the full glow of his lamp, and he 
wondered if at last one of the many young men he 
prayed for, had not come to seek the way of sal¬ 
vation. 


243 


244 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


David sat down in the plain little room, twirled 
his hat on his hand, and blundered awkwardly, while 
the pastor listened with a pained face. 

On hearing the short story he was greatly troubled. 
He begged to withdraw and speak to his wife about 
it. He went out of the room and was gone a long 
time. Upon his return his report was that there was 
only one thing to be done. Miss Hardy must be ap¬ 
proached on the subject and be induced to tell the 
truth; and the truth as it was, he would circulate 
through the neighborhood. He had no doubt but 
that one word from the young lady would set mat¬ 
ters in their right light. 

David went away quite satisfied. He lit his lamp 
in his lonely cabin, and thought of poor Hulda, and 
all the charming graces Cis had displayed of late, 
crowned by the act of her having the care of an un¬ 
known child upon her young and inexperienced hands. 

When the good pastor and his wife were preparing 
the next day to go to the Hardy cottage, Hulda her¬ 
self came lightly onto the porch and rapped on the 
study door. Millie had staid with her one night and 
day, while Buck patiently lounged about the hotel. 
The next morning Hulda came down from her room 
determined to take up the burden of her sorrow as 
best she could. 

After breakfast she had a talk with Mrs. Cornman. 
The teacher and his wife were glad to rent the cot¬ 
tage and furniture as it stood, leaving Hulda her lit¬ 
tle bedroom up-stairs where she might lock up her 
books and keepsakes, and special articles that were 


THE INQUISITION 


245 


dear to her. Mrs. Cornman was a very satisfactory 
person to deal with. She had even taken an in¬ 
ventory of the provisions in the house, and estimated 
that there was enough to pay Hulda’s board for 
several weeks, if she wished to stay. 

Hulda had covered her face with her black veil 
and went out of the house that was no longer hers. 
She went into the orchard, sweet with late blossoms. 
She had a plan of getting David to care for it; she 
could not bear the thought of its being neglected. 
She followed the orchard path, and went out into the 
grove of young pines. The path through the pines led 
to the old weather beaten church, and the low un¬ 
painted parsonage. 

She was received by her good friends with a sub¬ 
dued kindness, appropriate to her affliction. The pas¬ 
tor’s wife, a gentle little woman, who studiously 
echoed her husband, gave Hulda the best rocker, and 
sat down looking at her, quite at a loss for ^mything 
to say. She observed that the light was strong in 
her caller’s eyes, and rose to adjust the curtain. 
Hulda turned to her pastor. 

“I came in,” she said, “to get you to do a little 
business for me, that I want to have done as soon as 
possible. Some time ago mother placed all her prop¬ 
erty in my name. We have, as you know, a thou¬ 
sand dollars in the bank, that the miners presented to 
my mother when father died. Now mother is gone 
and I am able to support myself, and I wish to re¬ 
turn this money to the men who gave it. Some are 
dead, of course, and some cannot be found. I want 


246 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


this balance to go to the church, and if all the people 
who first gave this money are willing, I would like 
to see it all go to start a fund for a new church. I 
do not feel that the money belongs to me. My house 
and orchard is much more valuable, than when father 
died, and I have no wish to keep the money anyway.” 

“You are a good girl, you are a good girl,” cried 
the pastor’s wife, clasping her hands in ecstasy. 
But the minister looked gravely at the girl. 

“This is a very solemn step you are taking Miss 
Hardy. You need the money more than the church. 
You might wish to complete your education.” 

“It is not a question of need, Brother Graceway,” 
interrupted Hulda. 

“Ah, well,” the minister rubbed his hands slowly, 
“we ought to take this under advisement.” 

“We will do nothing of the kind, Brother Grace¬ 
way. I wish you to give out a notice. I have the 
original^subscription list here. The people can come 
and get their money and then you can talk to them 
about the new church. Here is a check for the 
amount made out in your name. Please say no 
more. That is all I intend to do about it.” 

She rose hurriedly as if to go. The gentle little 
woman came and kissed her cheek. 

“You are a noble girl. Some of those men are 
poor now. You are perfectly right.” Hulda smiled 
and turned away. Mrs. Graceway bent over her hus¬ 
band who sat as if stupefied, the papers in his hand. 

“Father, father, sha’n’t we say something about 
the other now?” 


THE INQUISITION 


247 


“Er~r, yes, of course. Call her back.” 

The woman took her hand quietly. “Wait a min¬ 
ute, Miss Hardy, there is something we want to say. ” 

Hulda sat down patiently, and looked as if she had 
no interest in what they wished to say. 

“Ah, well, Miss Hardy,” the^ minister cleared his 
throat several times. “About the child, er—the 
child. Is its support assured?” 

Hulda straightened up and opened her eyes wildly. 

“What child?” 

“Er—the child your mother raised. I speak of its 
support.” 

“That child, Brother Graceway, is not an heir in 
any sense to this money. Her support any way is 
assured.” 

“Ah, yes, yes. In addition, Miss Hardy, would 
you have any objection, Miss Hardy, to telling us 
something further about the child—its history and 
parentage. I ask as a friend, you know.” 

Hulda started violently, and dropped her head on 
her clasped hands. Since her last conversation with 
La Grange she had thought much over the fact that 
although she had given up her lover because he 
seemed lacking in honor, yet for a year she had been 
living and telling a direct falsehood to shield a 
sufferer. Having taken such a bold stand against 
deceit, she dared not try to reconcile her own con¬ 
duct to it. But she was not prepared with an answer 
to this question. It had not occurred to her, that 
the question would come up in the short time of her 
stay, before she would return to Cherry Creek. 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


248 

But for the first flash of thought she was glad the 
question came from her good pastor. He was patient 
and kind, and he might not think it strange if he 
were not answered at all. So she finally lifted her 
head calmly. 

“I am not at liberty just now to tell you anything 
about her, Brother Graceway.” 

Brother Graceway looked around at his wife, 
puzzled. 

«We really want to know, Miss Hardy,” she sug¬ 
gested. Hulda looked at her a little strangely. 

“Yes,” continued her pastor, “it is absolutely 
necessary that we should know the facts just as they 
are.” 

Hulda rose distressed, but as yet, calm. 

“I am sorry, but there is nothing to tell. You 
must not ask me.” 

Her look of candor and innocence quelled the pas¬ 
tor into silence. She turned to go, but Mrs. Grace¬ 
way came close and touched Hulda s arm quietly, 
and whispered: 

“You must tell us, dear, for people say it is your 
child.” 

Hulda turned and faced them with a wild look in 
her eyes, and a blanched face. 

“You see we ask for your good.” 

“Yes, yes,” she murmured. 

The pastor and his wife both continued to make 
kind and gentle remarks, but Hulda heard nothing. 

Mother, home, friends, all gone. S he began to 
tremble, then she threw up her hands as if for sup- 


THE INQUISITION 


249 


port, and knowing there was a lounge in the corner 
of the room she walked blindly to it, and dropped 
down with a burst of tears and sobs. All the efforts 
of Mrs. Graceway availed nothing. She neither spoke 
nor moved, but sobbed her strength away. 

The good people were sorely distressed. At noon, 
Mrs. Graceway brought a cup of tea and persuaded 
her to sit up and drink it. 

The pastor came and stood by her and spoke in 
the most kind and gentle manner. 

“You see we want to break up the talk, that is why 
we ask.” 

The girl then lifted up her sad eyes. 

“There is nothing to say. I cannot tell you. Oh, 
my friends, my friends, how can they say it?” 

Presently she went away and walked, as one 
stunned, through the pines, and down the grassy or¬ 
chard path, and came to her old home, which looked 
so utterly strange to her. 

Mrs. Cornman had prepared a dainty lunch and 
kept it waiting for her after the teacher had gone back 
to school; but she saw the fixed look of pain on 
Hulda’s face, and let her walk on without a word, to 
hide herself in her room. 

Hulda came down later, and quietly helped about 
the evening meal, but she ate only a few mouthfuls, 
and Mrs. Cornman gently pressed her to go back to 
her room, as she saw that the girl gained better there 
than anywhere else. 

That evening the Rev. and Mrs. Graceway called, 
and wished to see Mr. and Mrs. Cormnan in the par- 


2 50 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


lor. They state the case briefly and wished the 
teacher and his wife to use their influence to induce 
Hulda to explain the matter. 

Joseph Cornman heard a few words, then quietly 
rose and left the room, and going out of the house 
he stumbled on David leaning over the front gate. He 
had determined in his own mind at once not to have 
any hand in the matter whatever. It did not trouble 
him to see the girl humiliated. He quite hated her 
now, for the temporary mental treason she caused 
him to have against that peerless and wonderful wo¬ 
man, his wife. 

“Oh, is that you, Strong?” 

They could barely see each other in the darkness. 

“Has she told anything yet?” whispered David, 
huskily. 

“Not that I know of,” answered the teacher in¬ 
differently. 

“I suppose you know the talk?” 

“Oh, yes,” with a circumflex. 

David straightened up with rising anger. 

“Cornman, do you think of such a thing as that 
girl’s being guilty? Lord, if I thought you did, I’d 
knock you down—When you’ve been here all the 
time.” 

Mr. Cornman drew back. He seemed inclined to 
get into the shelter of the rosebush. 

“Keep cool, keep cool. In any case, I am not the 
man to knock down.” He laughed as if the matter 
was of no consequence. 

“Bah.” David walked down the lane to smother 
his anger. 


THE INQUISITION 


251 


The next morning Hulda came to breakfast, pale 
and quite ; and Mrs. Cornman watched her furtively. 
After breakfast she said to her: 

“This is going to be a lovely day, Hulda. Don’t 
you feel like going with me for wild flowers? You 
know you promised to help me get a collection of all 
the flowers. I think you will feel stronger to go.” 

Hulda quietly assented. Getting shade hats and 
gloves, the two women went out through the orchard 
and pines, and followed a little stream that was 
finding its way down a gentle slope to the gulch 
below. 

They gathered a few flowers languidly and sat 
down to rest on a flat bowlder in the shade of some 
manzanita bushes. Hulda clasped her hands and 
looked down at the thin water purling over the 
rocks. There was no joy in anything, and she had 
determined to live out, as best she could, her period 
of dumb despair. 

But Mrs. Cornman was only waiting to speak to 
her. She leaned closer to the girl’s ear. 

“Hulda, why do you try to bear it alone? Why 
don’t you tell us?” 

Hulda sat motionless. 

“Ar^.’t you willing to confide in me?” The girl 
turned a grateful face to her. 

“If I could, Mrs. Cornman.” 

“But why can’t you? You are injuring yourself 
not to tell.” 

“That makes no difference.” 

“But it is wrong.” 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


252 

“No matter.” 

Mrs. Cornman was silent a moment. 

“But will you tell me one thing. Are you trying 
to shield a friend or relative?” 

Hulda saw the trap at once. She could not shield 
a friend and tell of it. She turned away her face, 
and after a time said slowly. 

“I have made up my mind not to say anything 
whatever, Mrs. Cornman.” 

“But do you want us to think you guilty?” 

Hulda slowly dropped her face into her hands. 
Her tears were falling fast. 

“There is nothing I want—but—my mother! My 
dear, dear mother!” 

Mrs. Cornman had never met with an experience 
of this kind before. She did not know what to think, 
and in the absence of any proof she resolved to re¬ 
frain from any judgment. But she knew that the 
majority would come to only one conclusion—that 
the girl was guilty. 

“Very well, .then,” she said, after atime. “I shall 
not trouble you about it. But you must let me ad¬ 
vise and help you. Don’t you think I can?” 

“O, yes, dear Mrs. Cornman.” She bravely 
crushed back her tears. She wanted just such a 
friend; one wise in every way. She had always 
needed a friend like that. Mrs. Cornman acted from 
motives of pure generosity and charity. Her hus¬ 
band, knowing she would despise him if he did other¬ 
wise, did not condemn Hulda; but he had an acrid 
manner of avoiding the subject that jarred on his 
wife’s nerves. 


THE INQUISITION 


253 


Hulda had grown stronger, and that same day 
when the shadows grew long, she dug out several 
small rosebushes and carried them alone to her 
mother’s grave. David, who had gone there volun¬ 
tarily to work about the graves of her two parents in 
the little enclosed lot, came out of the narrow space, 
and let her go in alone. But Hulda was quite 
cheerful. 

“Thank you, thank you, David,” she said, “this is 
just like you. Now can we plant these bushes?” 

She held the plants while he placed the earth 
around them. She was perfectly firm and self-con¬ 
tained. She had reasoned that there was yet one, 
she wished to protect from unnecessary pain, and 
that one was the ever faithful and kind David. She 
knew that he must know of the scandal, and she had 
resolved to place him at his ease as far as his insight 
in regard to her own feelings were concerned. 

After they had closed the picket gate, he walked 
home with her through the pines. David was glad 
she had returned her money to the donors, and 
wanted to tell her so. 

“I heard you was a thousand dollars poorer,” he 
said, “and I am tarnal glad of it.” 

“Why, Dave?” 

“I’m glad you don’t owe this miserable town a 
cent.” 

“Never mind, Dave, you know I don’t care for the 
town. I am very happy in my school. I am going 
back there to-morrow. Millie and Buck are com¬ 
ing after me. Please don’t worry about me, Dave. 
Nothing troubles me, but mother.” 


254 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


David looked at her in surprise, wondering at her 
indifference. 

“Hulda, you don’t know how lonely I’ll be.” 

“Yes, Dave.” They walked on with choked voices, 
their eyes filled with tears until they reached the or¬ 
chard. 

“Dave,” she said, “you must go and see Cis some¬ 
times, and be kind to her for my sake. Mother loved 
her, you know.” 

“Well, I will. It’s my nature to want to be look¬ 
ing after somebody.” 

“Now, good-night, Dave, and come and say good- 
by in the morning.” 

But in the morning she went to the Beverly farm. 
She did not wish to see more of David then. In the 
interval Mrs. Cornman had told her of the implica¬ 
tion of David’s name in the town gossip, and she 
needed yet more strength in every way to give David 
a good assurance of her peace of mind. The slight¬ 
est hint on her part, that she was being crushed by 
such unkind gossip, might start David into a series of 
aggressive blunders; such at least had been Mrs. 
Cornman’s opinion, and Hulda was following her 
advice. Thus fortune at last had sent her a guide 
for her heedless footsteps. 

Hulda was not happy in her school. The taste of 
classical studies she had received had destroyed her rel¬ 
ish for the humdrum work of training the young chil¬ 
dren of Cherry Creek. The sorrow preyed upon her 
more when she realized that she could not numb her 
consciousness by the labors of her school-room work. 


THE INQUISITION 


255 


The sense of her utter loneliness grew heavier upon 
her. Her mother was gone, and with her, by a 
strange combination of circumstances/ all the friends 
and hopes of her youth. 

The practical and thoroughly useful Mrs. Cornman 
had not yet taken a place in the girl’s heart to fill the 
place of those familiar faces of her earlier years. 
Every day deepened the sense of banishment and 
isolation from her old home. Reflection magnified 
the evils of her position in the eyes of the Hardup 
gossips, and she began to feel more heavily each day 
the burden of her supposed disgrace, and strange 
position. She reflected that they might in time hear 
of it at Cherry Creek, and the good people there 
would consider her unfit to instruct their tow-headed, 
bare-footed urchins, in the hot, unpainted school- 
house. The Woods, who were so gentle and kind to 
her since she wore her mourning dress, might then 
lose faith in her, and also cast her from their 
friendship. 

Her cheeks grew paler as she pondered these things, 
yet in her heart there was no thought of wavering in 
her position in her loyalty to her mother’s dying 
wish. 

Harder than all to bear was the thought that La 
Grange would hear of it. She thought of the prac¬ 
tical reflections that would arise in his strong mind. 
She had cast him away, made a wild lunge at the 
mote in his eye, while the beam in her own eye, the 
defect in her character had been unspeakably greater. 
He could only despise her, forget her, cease even to 
think of her, as unworthy of his memory. 


256 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

She reflected that her apparent scorn of him at her 
mother’s funeral, her unconscious refusal to speak to 
him, would only increase her present culpability in 
his opinion. It seemed to her that he would look 
upon that action as the pure audacity of guilt. She 
felt moreover, that the stain on her character effectu¬ 
ally separated her from him. He was destined by 
his talents alone to take his place among the leading 
people, and, however worthy he might become of 
her, a woman with a blemished character should 
have no place with him. As she saw and felt her 
effectual separation from him for these reasons, she 
began to allow her mind to lose sight of the defect 
she had found in his character. As of one dead, she 
thought only of his virtues and magnified them. He 
became again in her mind and heart her candid book¬ 
laden lover of the past, and in love and memory of 
him, she tried to take comfort and solace from her 
books. 

But that love, having no hope or promise at all, 
lay like a dead weight on her heart. 

Meanwhile Hulda was tried in the town of Hardup 
by no jury, and acquitted by no judge. No one knew 
anything, yet everyone knew something. Those who 
did believe in the girl were silenced by her silence, 
and could have nothing to say. The influence of the 
Rev. Graceway was limited to the members of his 
flock, and these were not the ones who discussed the 
scandal, and some of them never heard of it. 

Most of Hulda’s money went to the church. A 
few accepted a return of the original gift, and so 


THE INQUISITION 


257 


many had died or gone away that most of the donors 
preferred to see their part swell the church building 
fund. 

Those who believed in Hulda’s guilt looked upon 
her return of the money as a proof of her guilt, consid¬ 
ering that she had done it as a means of doing pen¬ 
ance, or a means of softening the public judgment. 
Others, who were more pious than righteous, thought 
the church needed the money more than she did. 
Only a few were conscious of the true nobility of the 
deed. Among these was Mrs. Cornman, who placed 
an Easterner’s estimate upon the value of money. 

“Only think, Joseph,” she said to her husband, one 
morning at breakfast, “she could have taken that 
money and left this ungrateful place, and gone to 
Vassar.” 

“Perhaps,” suggested the teacher slowly, “perhaps 
her ambition does not aspire in that direction.” 

“Well, had I only known what she was thinking of, 
I would have sent her, ambition, money and all, 
straight East.” 

Mr. Cornman broke his toast into several pieces, 
and looked into his plate. 

“Wait till you have had more experiecne with Cali¬ 
fornia girls, Mrs. Cornman,” he said soberly. 

As continued dropping wears away a stone, so the 
teacher by a lofty silence, or an appearance of con¬ 
scientious non-committal, managed after a time to 
break up, somewhat, his wife’s good opinion of 
Hulda. She concluded that discretion was the better 
part of valor in case anything should be wrong, and 

David of Juniper Gulch 17 


258 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


although she determined to help and advise the girl 
all she could, yet she withheld the tender friendship 
and mother love she might have given her. 

Soon after Hulda’s return to her school, David in 
wrathful disgust packed his mule and returned to 
Juniper Gulch, from which, however, he felt inclined 
to return occasionally encouraged by the brighter 
smiles and kinder ways of pretty Cis Beverly. Cis 
was growing quite like herself again. She was be¬ 
coming bright, winning and coquettish, as she used 
to be. She seldom left the little farm, however, 
giving her life to the care of the old folks and the 
child, that grew healthier and prettier, crowing in the 
sunshine, while Cis picked cherries or currants, or 
worked over her strawberry bed. 

David soon began to come to spend his Sundays at 
the Beverly farm instead of going on to Hardup, and 
the feeble old people sitting in the vine shaded porch, 
smiled at each other to see him climb the cherry tree 
for Cis, or take the hoe, and change the water ditches 
in her garden. 

The spring days were like lovely dreams, at this 
quiet little nook, where the forest-covered mountain 
had spread out a lap at its foot, wide enough for a 
house and orchard, and a little hay field. 

The stony creek, with its diminishing summer 
stream, ran below, but sufficient spring-water came 
out of the mountain to make the orchard famous for 
its productiveness. 

The spring air was rich with the melody of the 
birds, that flocked about the place and nested in the 


THE INQUISITION 


259 


vines over the house. The old fashioned flower gar¬ 
den was sweet with the perfume of the rose, the 
honey-suckle, the lemon verbena, mint and annis. 
Hollyhocks stood in a row by the gate, a pink olean¬ 
der grew tall by the window. Bees, humming-birds 
and bumble-bees contested the ownership of the 
flower beds. 

It was all very pleasant. David began to feel 
more and more at home, and the old people began to 
rely upon him as the natural staff of their old age. 

Any hint of Hulda’s ruined character never came 
into that bird-haunted little home. David naturally 
would not speak of it, Cis remained at home, and no 
one felt disposed to disturb the tranquil lives of the 
old people by such gossip. 

On Sundays, when the old people felt particularly 
well, they would climb into the easy old buggy and 
go to church, but Cis preferred to stay at home with 
the child, and David always came in time to put out 
the old horse on their return. They brought news 
of the fine, new church, that would take the place 
of the old one, and Hulda s name was spoken with 
tender love by the old people; and Cis knelt some¬ 
times by her white bed, and whispered it with welling 
tears of gratitude. 

Such was the evolution of gentle Cis Beverly. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

In the meanwhile, Mrs. Cornman had taken a sum¬ 
mer boarder. She had a natural aversion to spending 
her time in idleness. She possessed a spare room, 
neatly furnished, and she very soon evolved the plan 
of taking a summer boarder to occupy it; one who, 
besides being a source of profit, might be companion¬ 
able company. Her native ability suggested a plan 
of obtaining such a boarder. She wrote to the pas¬ 
tors of the leading churches in Sacramento, stating 
that she would open her pretty mountain home to 
some lady of refinement, who wished a good country 
boarding place. Her references being so good she 
at once received a reply from a woman, who was very 
glad to know of a home in just such a quiet mountain 
town. She came, and there was great mutual satis¬ 
faction. 

She was a woman of about fifty years, with soft 
abundant gray hair, pretty blue eyes, refined manners 
and habits, and her clothes were rich in texture, and 
made with perfect taste. 

Mrs. Cornman read aloud to her boarder from the 
papers and magazines, while they sat in the rose gar¬ 
den, with the roses hanging all about them. 

360 


THE SUMMER BOARDER 


26 l 


“Oh, how I do enjoy this,” said the boarder one 
day. “I like some one to read to me. I have had 
several young girls to come and live with me, but 
they hardly learned to read well before they were 
gone. Do you know, Mrs. Cornman, marriage is 
what girls think of most in this country? If I find a 
nice girl that I liked, I would give her a good educa¬ 
tion, and treat her as my own daughter, just to have 
her for a companion. My boy is away at school, and 
I am lonely.” 

Mrs. Cornman sat down that night and wrote to 
Hulda. She said: 

“Come home next Friday if you can. I want you 
to get acquainted with my boarder. She is such a 
lovely woman, and I may get you something better 
to do than teaching a Third Grade country school. 
Come home.” 

The next Friday evening Hulda rode in on Lila. 
It was a sad ride for her. There were bitter-sweet 
memories at every turn. Lila thrust her nose into 
the old mossy log trough, and Hulda bent over her 
neck, with a sudden choking at her throat and a swift 
rush of tears. 

Mrs. Cornman met her at the gate, kissed her 
warmly and gave her some tea on a shining white 
cloth in the dining-room. 

Hulda went to her room and changed her habit for 
a soft black lawn dress, placed a cluster of Lady 
Banksia roses at her throat, and then Mrs. Cornman 
led her into her mother’s old room where the gentle, 
white haired woman sat in the lamplight, which was 
softened by a pink shade. 


262 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“This is my orphan friend, Miss Hardy.” 

The woman was looking at her and smiling. She 
extended both her hands. 

“ Why, bless you, my child, I know you already! 
I have often thought of you. Don’t you remember 
me ? I met you at the Sacramento depot a year and 
a half ago.” 

The recognition was mutual. It was her compan¬ 
ion on that fateful trip to San Francisco. 

The next day Hulda took the garden hoe, and went 
out through the orchard, the pines, around the church, 
and parsonage to the graveyard on the hill. There 
would be thick weeds and grasses growing tall about 
the young rose-bushes by this time. The graveyard 
had been cleared from a thicket of scrub oaks and 
bushes. There had been some shapely wild bushes 
left in the cleared place. A great manzanita bush 
stood at the corner of the white picket railing of her 
lot. 

She opened the low gate and sank down upon her 
knees with her hand full of roses from the cottage. 

“My mother, my mother,” she sobbed tremulously. 

But there were no grasses or weeds there. The rose¬ 
bushes had opening buds on them, and the ground 
was clean and smooth. David had done everything. 

While she was gone Mrs. Cornman thought it best 
to inform Mrs. Markham, her boarder, of the scandal 
that had made the death of the mother such a pecul¬ 
iarly sad loss to the girl. Mrs. Markham looked dis¬ 
tressed, but there seemed to be no strong impression 
made on her mind. 


THE SUMMER BOARDER 


263 


“Oh, well,” she said, “I am going to take the girl 
away from such ungrateful people, if she will go with 
me. She will get over her trouble sooner, too. You 
mustn’t mind California gossip, Mrs. Cornman. 
When you have heard as much of it as I have, you 
will find that they forget it as quick as they take it 
up. If the girl wants to protect some friend, I say, 
let her alone.” 

Hulda went back to Cherry Valley * Sunday fore¬ 
noon. She had no desire to go to church in Hardup, 
and her absence would be noted if she had remained 
at the cottage. She had decided to go with Mrs. 
Markham, who had promised her every educational 
advantage that Sacramento afforded, in return for her 
company. There was no doubt about the character 
and standing of Mrs. Markham. The pastor of the 
First M. E. Church in Sacramento had given her a 
letter of introduction to Mrs. Cornman, and Mrs. 
Cornman had known the pastor of the First M. E. 
Church in the East. 

Mrs. Markham wished to return home in three 
weeks, and Hulda had promised to resign her position 
and go with her.. She would miss the pleasant home 
with the Woods’ family, and Lila, and the children 
of her school, who were now improving rapidly. But 
neither Mrs. Cornman or Mrs. Markham would listen 
to any refusal. 

“It is the best chance a girl like you ever had,” 
said Mrs. Cornman. “The rent of your house will 
clothe you, and more too, and she will furnish the 
rest. Don’t think of refusing.” 


264 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

It was very quiet at the Woods’ farmhouse when 
Hulda stopped Lila at the gate about noon. The 
children were at play far down in the orchard, and 
they did not see her. So she unsaddled Lila at the 
porch and led her to the barn, something she had 
never done before; there had always been some one 
to welcome and assist her. There was no one in the 
sitting-room, so she went into her room at the end 
of the porch. She changed her habit for a cool calico 
dress, and brushed and recoiled her hair. She turned 
to her book-stand to place her hand on the well worn 
Shakespeare La Grange had given her, and noticed 
for the first time an envelope lying there. It was 
addressed in a cramped, irregular penmanship, “Miss 
Hardy, Teacher.” She opened it wonderingly. The 
writer or writers had made an illiterate attempt at a 
dignified communication! 

To Miss Hardy, Teacher. 

“Miss: — 

“We held a school meeting to-day, and 
we elected new trustees. We, the undersigned trus¬ 
tees, think we had rather have a change of teachers, 
and we want you to resign at the end of your month 
in two weeks. 

“J. Bates, 

“R. Geders, 

“P. Marks, 

“Trustees.” 

“Saturday, June 3rd, p. m.” 

Hulda laid down the paper and stood motionless. 
The last trial had come, in all ways the worst. The 


THE SUMMER BOARDER 


265 


scandal had reached Cherry Valley, and she was not 
considered fit to instruct the stupid little children of 
these uncultured parents. With a moan she fell 
across her bed clutching at the white counterpane, 
and lay motionless. 

It must have been several hours after, when Mrs. 
Woods pushed open the door and came in. She saw 
the white face of the girl, who opened her eyes and 
looked at her without a word. Mrs. Woods had made 
the blow harder by not giving the girl any welcome 
at all on her return, and whatever may have been 
the cause of such neglect, she seemed repentant now. 
She threw herself on the bed and wound her arms 
about the stricken girl. 

“I don’t believe a word of it. Neither does any¬ 
body who’s got any sense. Please don’t feel so bad, 
Miss Hardy. Please don’t look so.” 

This burst of sympathy brought the relief, and 
Hulda turned her face to the pillow with a flood of 
tears. Mrs. Woods sat and held her hand, and Hulda 
lay silent. Finally Mrs. Woods said: 

“I have heard that you won’t deny it. If the 
child isn’t yours, why don’t you say so?” 

Hulda sat up rigidly and drew away. She then 
knew that this little friend who had been so kind, had 
in fact some doubt as to her innocence. 

“Mrs. Woods, they didn’t ask me to deny it. 
They asked me whose it was, and I refused to make 
any reply. Those people are crazy; they know it 
isn’t mine.” 

“Well, there, I believe you,” said Mrs. Woods, 


266 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


slowly. “I am sorry the rumor came here; the trus¬ 
tees thought it was bad enough to have that kind of 
talk about, even if it was not true. I am sorry for 
you, especially since you feel so bad about it.” 

She smoothed Hulda’s hand gently for a moment, 
then went suddenly out of the room. She had not 
tempered the pain in the least, and the girl knelt by 
her bed in prayerless despair, till Alex came tapping 
at her door to call her to evening tea. 

But Monday morning little Susie Bates brought her 
a note that gave her more heartfelt pleasure than any 
grammatical communciation she had ever received. 
She kissed it and thrust it in her bosom. It brought 
back the sound of dancing on a pine platform, and 
the memory of a night ride through the forest. 

“Dear old teacher: — 

“Buck and me wants you to come to our house 
after school, and we’ll hitch up and get your trunk. 
Buck says you sha’n’t stay at anybody’s else’s house 
while you are here. Buck’s mad enough. Now, 
please come, my dear old teacher. 

“Millie Dorms.” 

So after dismissing her children, Hulda walked 
over the gravelly hills to a small, unpainted, new pine 
house on a slope by a wooded gulch. There was no 
fence and a line of white clothes hung in bold relief 
against the red background of the hill. Millie came 
out the open door and ran down to meet her. She 
was attired in a freshly ironed, wide muslin dress that 
made her look far too bunchy; she was clean, and 
sweet as ever. She kissed Hulda and clung to her 
arm, leading her in. 


THE SUMMER BOARDER 


267 


“You will stay with us, won’t you?” she said. 

The front room was carpeted with a very red in¬ 
grain carpet, and furnished with a few pieces of 
cheap pine furniture; and the little bedroom had 
evidently shared its furniture with another sleeping 
room, but the walls were lined with white muslin, 
and Millie’s frank hospitality made it a welcome and 
pleasant home to the heart-sick girl. She knew 
these simple-hearted friends trusted her without a 
question. 

“Where’s your husband?” she said, bathing her 
face in the water Millie had brought. 

“Oh, he’s out herding turkeys. He’ll be here by 
the time I get supper. Won’t you lie down on the 
lounge in the parlor and rest while I go out and get 
supper going?” 

Hulda was glad to lie down, and listen to Millie 
stepping briskly around on the bare floor in the • next 
room. 

Presently Buck came and sat down in the doorway 
where he could see both the women. His wrath at 
the action of the new board had in no way subsided. 

“It’s the dirtiest piece of work I ever heard of. 
They’re a blamed set of fools. They ain’t got any 
more against you than you’ve got against my turkeys, 
not a bit. But old Pete Marks was up to Hardup, 
and he asked Cornman there if that darned story 
was true, and he couldn’t get yes nor no out of that 
blamed rascal. He just twisted his greasy old shoul¬ 
ders. Oh, I didn’t like that old injun the first time 
I saw him!” 


268 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Buck, do hush!” 

Millie came and wound her plump arm over his 
mouth, and Buck took it down and held it. 

“What does that old Pete Marks know anyway? 
Why, he couldn’t figger up the price of ten turkeys 
if they was worth a dollar apiece.” 

Hulda laughed then, and Millie took them in to 
supper. What an appetizing smell of steak, and 
what a great, mellow, crisp-looking jelly cake! 

What with the well meant rude bluntness of Buck 
and the good cooking of Millie, Hulda did not fare 
so badly during the remainder of her time at Cherry 
Creek. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF. 

On a mild, soft winter day in latter December of 
the same year, Hulda sat before an easel in the 
library room of Mrs. Markham’s home in Sacramento. 
She was quietly dressed, though in richer material, 
than we have seen her wear on the rocky roads of 
the placer regions; and her hair was drawn back in 
the perfect Grecian coil, worn at that time, with 
soft curls around her neck and forehead. Her face 
lacked the old ruddy color, but it had gained in 
strength and grace of expression. 

Back of her chair, where the sunlight shone full 
upon the slender figure, clad in gray silk, sat Mrs. 
Markham. She had a piece of gold colored velvet 
fastened on a frame in her hand, upon which she was 
working some design. But mostly the frame lay in 
her lap, and she was watching her companion. 

Hulda was working on the finishing touches of a 
large panel painting of hollyhocks, in oil. She was 
working slowly, as an amateur works, leaning back 
occasionally and waiting for some criticism from Mrs. 
Markham. 

“I am afraid, auntie,” she said, “that they are not 
as good as my morning-glories.” 

2G9 


270 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


They glanced at a canvas in the corner on which 
a mass of morning-glories were climbing over an 
adobe wall. 

“They are both lovely,” returned Mrs. Markham, 
“and Archie will be delighted with his Christmas 
presents.” 

“I wish I were sure he would be delighted with 
me.” 

“He will, dear. A girl who can learn to handle 
the brush as you have in six months, can make a 
school-boy like her.” 

“It isn’t my talent, dear Mrs. Mrakham, it is the 
talent of the teacher you have employed for me.” 

Mrs. Mrakham smiled. 

“Well, whose talent is it that has made you finish 
up a year’s work in the High School in half a year?” 

“Oh, I had had most of the studies except mathe¬ 
matics, before I came. Prof. Grey is a great dem¬ 
onstrator. It is only by his help that I will graduate 
in June.” 

“Prof. Grey is demonstrating one thing to me,” 
said Mrs. Markham, emphatically. 

“Auntie, don’t be cross with him.” 

“Well, he is demonstrating to me that I shall have 
to put up my sign again. 'No proposals to my com¬ 
panion accepted.’” 

Hulda bent closer to her work. 

“But, auntie, you invite him here yourself. Why 
do you ask him to your Christmas dinner?” 

“My Christmas dinner on the 24th?” laughed Mrs. 
Markham. “Well, there are a great many reasons. 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


271 


I want to put you in the best society, even if I don’t 
want you to marry. Then the dinner is for Archie, 
and I want him to know all my friends. He is only 
fifteen, but I want him to learn to feel as much at 
ease with the best people as he is with the boys at 
school. There dear, you have that light just right, 
don’t put another touch of paint on that picture It’s 
just as lovely as it can be. Carry it up to your studio, 
Hulda, and bring down the ribbon; I want to see 
you begin on the dinner favors.” 

There were fifteen slips of satin ribbon to decorate 
with flowers, sprays and sentiments for Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham’s dinner, to be given on account of a pressure 
of events on the 24th. 

The girl took the bright panel picture, shining 
against her dark dress, and left the room. She 
seemed to have grown taller, and her manners were 
graceful and quiet. 

As she went out of the room, across the next room 
into the hall and up the stairs, her footsteps made 
no sound on the rich carpets. Mrs. Markham’s home 
was everything that the taste of a wealthy woman 
could make it. The house had been originally a 
large square-built mansion, with French windows and 
blinds, a style of dwelling very much admired at the 
time of its erection, and Mrs. Markham, not wishing 
to materially change the home that was a memorial 
to her of her husband, had merely added to the orig¬ 
inal, modeling her improvements according to the 
best taste of the time. 

The library was an addition with square bay win- 


272 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


dows, and a tower like room above, opening upon an 
enclosed square balcony. This upper chamber was 
Hulda’s room. 

Her front parlor had been enlarged by a broad cir¬ 
cular bay window, making above a pretty tower room 
and window where Mrs. Markham took her breakfast, 
and looked down upon her garden. 

The square look of the house had been entirely 
relieved by the addition of gables and oriel windows, 
and well studied changes in the roof. The grounds 
were large and thickly planted with shrubbery, and 
there was a carriage drive through the grounds to the 
stable in the rear. 

A large glass conservatory, full to the roof with 
plants, was a back wing of the house, connected with 
the dining-room by a covered passage. 

The interior of the house had been changed and 
improved from year to year, and the furnishing 
showed choice selection from the various local epochs 
of modern taste. 

But there was everywhere subdued, yet cheerful, 
coloring; the vases and bric-a-brac were choice and 
elegant, and engraving and etching mainly adorned 
the walls. 

Mrs. Markham had been among the first to encour¬ 
age an art interest in the city, and had placed Hulda 
under the best teacher the town afforded, as much 
perhaps to improve her own criticism, as to educate 
her talented protege. 

Archibald, her son, was fond of music, and when 
at home had been allowed to indulge his favorite in- 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


273 


tellectual bias at will. The back parlor, or music 
room, contained a piano and organ; a violin, and a 
guitar stood in cases in the corner, but a flute and 
cornet had been surreptitiously carried away to school. 

Brought into such rich and refining surroundings, the 
association alone would have been an education to 
the mountain girl. But Mrs. Markham, desiring co 
make her a companion in every way, had crowded 
the girl’s mental capacity. So much had every 
moment been occupied, that Hulda had had little time 
to think of her lost home and friends. 

As Christmas time drew near, Mrs. Markham had 
suggested a box of cigars for David Strong, and some 
toilet cases for Mrs. Cornman, and they had been 
duly purchased and sent off. Mrs. Markham insisted 
on paying for the pleasure of her suggestions. 

On the evening of the 22nd, Archibald arrived, 
intent on making the most of a week’s vacation. 
One could not help liking Archie. Round, wide blue 
eyes, an open countenance, vivacious manners, friend¬ 
liness with every one—that was Archie Markham. 
He had become thoroughly acquainted, as he thought, 
with Hulda during his summer vacation, and now as 
soon as he had greeted his mother he ran up toHulda’s 
room, threw open the door, and embraced and kissed 
the astonished girl effusively. 

“You dear old girl,” he cried, “you’ve taken fine 
care of my pretty mamma. Say, can you play ac¬ 
companiments yet? I know a daisy piece on the 
violin. It’s awful easy, too. Come on, I want 
mamma to hear it.” 

David of Juniper Gulch 18 


274 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“It will have to be awful easy, truly, if I play the 
accompaniment, but I’ll try.” And the two came 
down stairs arm in arm. 

The dinner was just Archie’s idea of a good time. 
Early on the morning of the 24th, he interviewed Ah 
Moon and found out of just what the dinner was to 
consist, and how it was to be served. Then Mike 
Donovan, the coachman, gardener and all around 
help, was subjected to a cross examination in the barn 
loft, and it was evolved that the carriage was to be 
sent for the minister and his wife, and an insurance 
man and wife, and the widow Crosby. 

An hour before the time set for the guests to arrive 
he stood in the hall outside his mother’s dressing 
room, where Hulda was putting the last touches to 
his mother’s toilet. He was tapping on the door 
impatiently. 

“I want to give you my presents now,” he cried. 
“I am tired of packing them around.” 

Hulda went to her own room, and Mrs. Markham 
opened the door. She wore a black satin dress with 
an abundance of black lace, and her hair lay in shin¬ 
ing silver puffs high on her head. 

Archie kissed her affectionately. “You look stun¬ 
ning, mamma, I knew you would rather see my 
-Christmas present now.” He took an envelope from 
his pocket and unfolded some papers. 

“They are my terms’ reports, mamma. All ninety- 
five per cent.” 

“God bless you, my son,” said the mother. “I 
know you have worked hard to get me this present. 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


275 


Indeed you are right, I prize it more than anything 
you could buy for me. I want to show them to our 
pastor. But I hope you have something for Miss 
Hardy.” 

“Yes, mamma.” 

He took from his pocket a little box, and revealed 
a gold collar pin, with a row of pearls across it. Mrs. 
Markham examined it critically. 

“That is in very good taste, Archie. It will har¬ 
monize with what I gave her. I have insisted upon 
her laying off her black dresses. I got her a silk dress 
and she will wear it to-day.” 

At that moment Hulda came out of her room. She 
wore a perfectly fitted navy blue silk dress made en¬ 
train, and with old-gold velvet panels, and vest. 

“Glorious,” cried the boy. “Why, Hulda, you’re 
a long sight handsomer than I thought you was.” 

He fastened the pin at her throat and stood off to 
admire the effect. Hulda encircled Mrs. Markham’s 
waist, her eyes shining with tears. 

“You are both of you too kind,” she stammered 
“I can never repay you.” 

The faint silver tones of a bell sounded through 
the hall. Archie was looking from the oriel window. 

“It’s Mike with the carriage full of preachers and 
church members,” he said “Come on, now, and 
see me lay out my good behavior and grammar.” 

With smiles of amusement and pleasure, and the 
rustle of silken trains, the two women followed the 
boy down the broad stairs. 

The guests at the dinner party were as various in 


276 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

characteristics, as their names and appearances in¬ 
dicated. 

There was Dr. Welcome, a widower, a portly man 
with a round, well colored face, who attached himself 
with a modulated flow of talk to Col. Bruner, a tall, 
graceful man with long, gray side whiskers, who took 
the opportunity to introduce his favorite theme, Life 
Insurance. 

Lucy Welcome, a demure young lady with shining 
dark eyes, only thirteen years of age, crept into a 
chair behind her father, and did not speak till she 
was asked to go to the piano. Then she came out 
and played several difficult selections with wonderful 
skill, which explained her presence at the dinner 
party. 

There were Mr. and Mrs. Gartner, who were very 
rich and very refined, and exceedingly quiet in their 
manners. Mrs. Gartner was popularly supposed to 
be intellectual, but Hulda never obtained her confi¬ 
dence sufficiently to find out upon what subjects her 
intellectuality expended itself. The Gartners were 
very religious people. 

The widow was a cheerful little old lady, whose 
sterling qualities and fund of wit and humor made her 
as much sought after as a reigning belle. Archie was 
careful to reserve a seat for himself by her side. 

The Rev. Henry Newcome was a host at entertain¬ 
ing, and went from one to another with ready 
speeches. Mrs. Newcome, a round faced little wo¬ 
man, with restless eyes that seemed to see everything 
came to Hulda, first with a compliment on her per- 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


277 


sonal appearance, and then with a direct appeal that 
she should recite “Milton’s Nativity” at the Church 
Christmas tree that evening. 

She would take no refusal. “Mrs, Markham says 
you recite it,” she said, “and we are determined to 
have it. There are so few who can recite it.” 

At a nod from Mrs. Markham, Hulda yielded. She 
had already agreed to recite the “Curfew Bells” at 
the high school party Christmas night. This popu¬ 
larity was not unpleasant to her. 

“And after all,” she thought, when she dared take 
the time to think, “it is just what La Grange would 
have liked me to be. My life can at least show him, 
that although I lack reputation and sense, yet I do 
not lack ambition.” 

In the meantime Archibald was entertaining the 
widow Crosby. 

“I’ll tell you just what our program is,” he said. 
“To-night we are all going to the Christmas tree at 
the church. The carriage will bring mamma home 
early, and come back after Miss Hardy and me at 
twelve, or one o’clock, I guess. To-morrow morning 
early Miss Hardy and I are going in the carriage out 
to somewhere about 30th street, to take what’s left 
of to-day’s feast to a family out there, poor folks, 
you know. Then we are all going to the Christmas 
service at the Episcopal Church. And at two o’clock 
we go to dinner at the governor’s house. The gover¬ 
nor is an old friend of mamma’s, you know. 

“Then I have an invitation to the high school party. 
We’re going to have a big day, don’t you think?” 


278 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


The faint tinkle of a bell announced that Ah Moon 
and his temporary assistant were ready to serve the 
guests. 

“There now, Sister Crosby, if you’ll let me help 
you, I’ll take you in to dinner.” 

It was while the guests were going to the dining¬ 
room, that Hulda saw a telegraph messenger coming 
up the front steps. A moment after she was in the 
hall an open message in her hand. It was from Mrs. 
Cornman. 

“Grandpa Beverly died last night. Mrs. Beverly 
is very low. Asks for you. Come.” 

It seemed like a message from another world. Why 
must she be called from these pleasures and comforts 
to the bedside of an old woman in the mountains? 
Then a rush of understanding came after her first 
startled thoughts. Of course, she was Cis Beverly’s 
only protector and friend, and the poor girl would 
have to have her there in that time of bereavement 
and trouble. In truth she was Cis Beverly’s protec¬ 
tor, and that meant new responsibility and care. 

Mrs. Markham came looking for her, and found her 
bowed over the telegram with strained, staring eyes. 

She took the paper from her hand and read it, 
then placed her hand on Hulda’s shoulder kindly but 
firmly. 

“Of course you may go. That is settled. But 
you must not give away like this. These are only 
old friends of yours; you must make no difference 
before our guests. Now, Hulda, I’ll tell you. You 
run out and see Mike. Tell him to go directly to the 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


279 


depot and see if there is any night train you can go 
on. Then tell Moon to give you a little wine, and 
come to the dining-room. You must learn self-con¬ 
trol among other things. Can you do it?” 

“Yes, auntie,” said the girl with a grateful clasp of 
her hand. 

The dinner seemed like a dream to Hulda. 
Through the sparkle of glass, the shining of silver, 
the savory odors, the laughter and brilliant conversa¬ 
tion, she seemed to see Cis Beverly with her child, 
waiting alone by the gate of the desolate farmhouse. 

At six o’clock the excitement was all over, and she, 
with a dark dress and plain hat, was with Archie in 
the carriage at the depot, waiting for the express 
train. 

As the train rolled over the long American river 
bridge, she lay back in her seat and abandoned her¬ 
self to the sorrow of her thoughts. She was no longer 
the petted and admired plaything of Mrs. Markham. 
She was the sad-eyed Hulda Hardy, whom destiny 
had singled out for self sacrifice and not pleasure. 
There was only one thing to do. The conviction had 
come surely and clearly to her conscience. She 
would have to leave her new home with all its bril¬ 
liant prospects, and go and live with Cis and care for 
her and protect her and Nonie. She pictured herself 
keeping the ditches around the orchard trees, and 
taking the eggs to market. Sometime Cis might 
marry and free her, but she shuddered at the thought; 
that must be prevented. Anyway it would leave 
Nonie with her. 


28 o 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Had there been any hesitation as to her duty the 
struggle would have been harder; but the conviction 
came so strong, that it was only after her plans had 
been made that she realized how hard it would be to 
go back and part with Mrs. Markham, and take her 
books and clothes from her pretty rooms in the square 
wing. 

Late as it was, there was quite a crowd at the Forest 
Grove depot, and several people alighted with her 
from the train. She saw her old friend Hicks walk¬ 
ing about, scrutinizing the arrivals. He passed her 
several times, then he turned and lifted his lantern 
to throw the light in her face. 

“Cracky!” he exclaimed. “Who’d a thought this 
was you? What a tony cut you have got on you any¬ 
way! Why, you’ve grown a foot taller!” 

Hulda took his hand, and reassured him by her 
smile, that she was something like her old self. She 
followed him to the corner of the platform. 

“Now,” he said, “I’ll tell you just how it is. I’m 
up here with a light rig and a span of horses, and I’ve 
got to go down to Hardup to-night to make my reg¬ 
ular trip to-morrow. They’ll be a lot of travel. 
Now if you’re afraid to go over the road after dark, 
you can stay and get a horse and saddle at daylight, 
and get down there pretty near as quick.” 

“Why, Hicks,” cried the girl. “What are you 
talking about? Me to be afraid after dark? I guess 
you have forgotten what kind of a girl I am. Of 
course I’ll go with you.” 

“Well,” said Hicks, “got any luggage?” 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


28l 


“No, only my handbag. I will go with you to the 
stable.” 

They went along the dark, quiet street by the light 
of the lantern, and came to the stables where there 
was a pair of rough-looking mountain ponies har¬ 
nessed to a light buckboard. 

“You see,” said the stage driver, as they drove out 
of town, “we’ve had about three inches of rain, and the 
roads are lightening in some places. It’s bad enough 
by daylight. But I made my trips yesterday and I 
expect to make ’em to-morrow. 

“Hicks,” said Hulda, suddenly, “who sent you up 
here on this extra trip for me?” 

“Well, you see, it was that Mrs. Aurelia, Stalker, 
Hawthorne, Cornman, whatever it is the newspapers 
call her, but I guess it’s Strong puts up for it. The 
Cornmans ain’t noted for prodigality. Nice folks, 
though. You see I took that telegram up this morn¬ 
ing, and they looked for you on the afternoon train, 
but there was some poles down and the lightening 
wasn’t hitched up in time. When I got into Hardup, 
after dark, too, there was Mrs. Cornman at the stables 
ordering me to come right back to the midnight ex¬ 
press.” 

“Why, Hicks,” exclaimed Hulda, “I am so sorry. 
You won’t get any rest at all. Couldn’t Dave have 
sent some one in your place?” 

He cracked his whip violently, and was silent a 
moment. 

* “I guess you have forgotten old Hicks, haven’t 
you?” 


282 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Hulda laughed. “No, why?” 

“There was half a dozen I might have sent, but I 
wasn’t going to risk your neck on these roads with a 
fool driver, to say nothing of my horses. I tell you 
these roads is a terror. There’s a hole down there 
deep enough to drownd a horse in, and the road’s 
caved off in lots of places so that I have to cut out 
the bank with the hub to scrape along.” 

The veteran stage driver splashed along through 
the mud in the darkness, apparently in utter disregard 
of life or danger, but Hulda knew she was as safe as 
if Mike Donnovan were driving her with the Markham 
carriage in the park at Sacramento. 

The moon came out clear from some flying clouds 
and they could see the road better. Suddenly he 
drew the horses to a standstill with a loud exclama¬ 
tion. 

“Cain and Abel! What’s this? Take the lines a 
minute.” 

He sprang out and went forward. Hulda waited 
in suspense, hearing men’s voices; then Hicks came 
trudging back, muttering and gesticulating. 

“Here’s a rum go,” he said to the girl. “There’s 
a fellow going into the Little Giant Mine with a load 
of quicksilver. He’s got a horse and a wheel mired. 
He’s half drunk—been tied up to some dead fall in¬ 
stead of getting in before dark. You better curl up 
in the robes and go to sleep, girl. It’ll take me two 
hours to get him out of the road.” 

Hulda concluded to make the best of a bad matter. 
She crouched down in front of the buggy, drew the 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


283 


robes over her and tried vainly to sleep, her head 
resting on the seat, and the west wind blowing gustily 
about her. Her thoughts were back on that snowy 
ride of just a year ago. It was daylight when they 
drove into Hardup. 

“Now,” said Hicks, “you come to the hotel with 
me and get some coffee. Then I’ll have Pete, the 
stable boy, take this rig and drive you out to the 
Beverly farm. I’ve got to be getting ready to go 
back.” 

Hulda came up the path of the bare, wind blown 
garden in front of the Beverly home with rapid steps. 
She prayed that she might not be too late, if there 
was anything she could say or do to comfort the dying 
woman. A number of people stood on the porch in 
front, as if they had just come out to get the fresh 
air, or possibly speak more freely with each other. 
Hulda knew them all at a distance. 

There was Dr. Rider, a silent, austere man who 
had grown old in the service of the mountain people. 
He wore his hat and overcoat and was drawing on 
his gloves. The Rev. Graceway stood at one side, 
speaking with his wife. Several neighbors were 
speaking with Mrs. Cornman, who, at a gesture from 
some one, turned, and seeing Hulda, came down the 
steps to meet her with outstretched hands. All were 
in hearing of her words. 

“The dear old lady has just passed away,” she said. 
“She thought she would live to see you, and we all 
thought so. But she failed after midnight, and we 
dared not wait for you any longer. So while she 


284 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


was yet conscious, David and Cis were married, and 
she—” 

Hulda stood back aghast. “David married to Cis?” 
she stammered. Then she threw up her hand with 
a cry. “Oh, David, David!” and sank, almost un¬ 
conscious, with Mrs. Cornman’s arms about her. 

All the by-standers were within hearing of her 
words, but none of them knew that she had been 
overstudying for five months, and that she was ex¬ 
hausted with her night’s ride and exposure, nor could 
they have any comprehension of the reason why the 
news of the marriage was such a shock to the girl’s 
mind. Nor is it any wonder that they misconstrued 
the scene to Hulda’s disadvantage, and misunder¬ 
stood the cause of her emotion. It seemed to some 
of them a sure and final proof that Hulda Hardy was 
the deceived girl, and that David Strong should have 
married her. 

The doctor bent over the drooping girl. 

“It is nothing,” he said, “just loosen her coat and 
collar. She will be all right in a moment.” 

Then Hulda opened her eyes and smiled a little, 
extending her hand in greeting to the minister. Cis 
appeared, and came to her with encircling arms. She 
led Hulda straight to her own little room at the far 
end of the house. She closed the door and threw 
her arms around her ever faithful friend. 

“Oh, Hulda,” she whispered, pleadingly, “you 
won’t tell David, will you? I don’t want him to 
know. I love him and he loves me.” 

Hulda sat down with Cis in her arms, and silently 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 


285 


stroked her fair curling hair. That sweet confession 
waspleading with her reason. Love could make 
amends for anything, and if she loved him, David 
was not wronged. 

“Do you love him better than any one, Cis, and 
will you be true to him?” 

“Yes, Hulda, yes, yes. And you will never, never 
tell him, will you? I will keep Nonie.” 

Then in the house of death Hulda kissed her 
trembling friend and promised her. “And it is Christ¬ 
mas day,” thought the sweet-hearted girl. “It can 
be my Christmas gift, the best I ever gave. For 
Christ’s sake, and mother’s, I will keep my promise.” 

And it was only after she had lain down that night 
in her room in her own house at Hardup, that the 
after reflection came to her, that this marriage had 
relieved her of her self-assumed responsibility, and 
left her care free. 

Mrs. Cornman, who was so superior at managing, 
brought young Mrs. Strong and the child to the 
Hardy cottage from the funeral, and Hulda and Cis 
were together for a week. David remained at the 
farmhome to have it thoroughly aired, cleansed and 
repapered before Cis should return as his bride. And 
Hulda and Cis, walking in the pine forest, or whis¬ 
pering in the little bedroom up-stairs, planned more 
fully the details of the deception they had undertaken 
to carry out. People were to understand, and 
David also, that the child’s mother died in the city, 
as had been affirmed before, and now it could be 
further told that the father was missing and did not 


286 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


reply to any letters. It was a clear case of heartless 
desertion. This fabrication would be sufficient for 
David, and Cis knew that he would have no objection 
to her keeping the child as her own. He had said as 
much. 

“Any way,” said Cis, who was more world-wise 
than Hulda, “the home is mine, and the orchard, 
and he dare not object.” 

This fabrication proved to be sufficient for David; 
and as for the town’s people in general, they had 
their peculiar opinion of the whole affair. It was 
supposed that Cis really believed the story she told, 
and no one wished to try to make her any the wiser. 
They thought it a bit of crude justice that the child 
had found its father, even if its mother had disowned 
and discarded it. 

On New Year’s day Mr. and Mrs. Cornman went 
away for the day; David came, and it seemed quite 
like old times that Hulda should put on one of her 
old work aprons, and serve the dinner that 'Mrs. 
Cornman had left prepared. But it was only seem¬ 
ing. She tried to make it pleasant, but she now real¬ 
ized that the old trouble still divided her from the 
Hardup friends, and she would rather have been in 
her new home in the Capital City. David was 
changed in every way for the better. A lively am¬ 
bition seemed to have taken the place of his old idle 
humor. He had the most tender and wise solicita¬ 
tions for the comfort of Cis, and insisted upon her 
remaining away another week that he might the more 
thoroughly remove the traces of sickness and death 


CALLED AWAY TO A SURE PROOF 287 

from the house. He told them for the first time 
about his mine at Juniper Gulch, and explained in 
detail his plans for working it in the spring. 

He had also managed Hulda’s property in a manner 
most satisfactory. The fruit from the orchard had 
never been marketed before; but he had sold it all 
at Forest Grove this summer, and realized enough 
from it to pay for the headstones and the improve¬ 
ments at the graveyard lot. He suggested to Hulda 
that he could have more fruit trees set out in the 
spring, and enhance the value of the property. But 
when he proposed setting the fence back and clearing 
up some of the pine forest, Hulda turned away and 
said slowly: 

“No, Dave, let my pines alone.” 

In the morning David came for her with the light 
rig and horses, and took her to Forest Grove. She 
wanted to return at once, for Archie would be going 
back to San Jose. David wished her to go with him 
to several stores in Forest Grove, to select some car¬ 
pets for the farmhouse, and she was glad to do this 
for him. She had come to know a great deal about 
such things. 

La Grange, incidentally passing, saw her standing 
reflectively over a roll of carpet and he passed and 
repassed the open store several times. He stepped 
out of sight, however, when they came onto the 
street. He had a curiosity to see her, she had such 
a stylish appearance. But she had refused to speak 
to him at her mother’s funeral, and might do so again. 
Besides the apple peddler had been around with the 


288 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


revivified story, and this time with rather convincing 
proof; proof of one thing at least, that there had been 
some prior attachment between the widow Hardy’s 
daughter and David Strong. 

Hulda, from the car window, saw La Grange step 
onto the platform with a handful of letters, and pass 
to the mail car. He too, seemed taller, and he held 
his handsome head high, in the same proud and self 
reliant manner as of old. 

As the train glided out of the town, past the scattered 
houses and the green hills fringed with pines, Hulda 
felt for a moment as if she had suddenly stepped into 
a new world, and it was all darkness around her. 
Unawares the old pain that she had hoped to deaden 
with new thoughts sprang up anew. If she could 
only have gotten away without a glimpse of that fine 
erect figure, and well set head; but to see him even 
for a moment darkened all the future. She closed 
her eyes and sat as one stricken, but after a time it 
seemed as if some one had kissed her brow, and a 
strange comfort stole over her heart, as a sweet vision 
came to her eyes. It was the tender face of her be¬ 
loved new mother, Mrs. Markham. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE PICTURE. 

For some time after the visit to Hardup, Hulda 
seemed so unlike herself that Mrs. Markham concluded 
that it would be best, if possible, to keep her away 
from her mountain associates. She seemed utterly 
dispirited for a time, and her spells of absent minded¬ 
ness and sadness seemed incompatible with the event 
of the death of two aged people and the very satis¬ 
factory marriage of a young friend. 

Mrs. Markham did not wish Hulda to forget her 
mother and her old home, but she wished her to 
rise to an appreciation of her present advantages. 
One day she said to her: 

“I think I will not call you Hulda any more. I 
shall call you Dacie. Dacie is a pretty diminutive of 
Hulda, and it will not make you think of those who 
have always called you Hulda.” 

The girl smiled gratefully to her. “Yes, dear 
Auntie, call me Dacie. I shall like that very much. 
That was my father’s name for me.” 

Dacie Hardy, as Mrs. Markham would have her 
called, graduated from the High School that Spring, 
and after Archibald had come home for his summer 


David of Juniper Gulch 19 


289 


290 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


vacation, and gone back, Mrs. Markham took Hulda 
and went to San Francisco for the remainder of the 
year, where her companion and prot6g6 resumed her 
studies in painting and elocution. And a polite and 
smiling Frenchman came to their apartments several 
times a week to instruct them in his native language. 
Besides, there were the theatres and concerts; Mrs. 
Markham let nothing good escape her notice, and 
Hulda expanded in her new world, improved with 
every intellectual contact, and became all and more 
than all that Mrs. Markham had wished for her. 

They returned to the Sacramento home for Archie’s 
home coming again, and the Christmas dinner that 
Mrs. Markham gave was more elegant in appoint¬ 
ments and brilliant in intellectual presence than any 
she had before given. Her prot£g6 had become an 
attraction, and for this reason, and on account of her 
own personality, aided by her wealth, she could gather 
around her those of the best society, or those who, 
for any reason were desirable or entertaining. 

The following summer, as soon as Archie’s college 
term closed, in company with her son and Hulda, 
she went East on a leisurely pleasure trip. They 
visited Washington and New York, and when Archie 
had returned to his college'opening, Mrs. Markham 
settled herself in Boston, for she was desirous that 
her ward, as she liked to call Hulda, where no one 
knew the difference, should do some painting in the 
studio of some artist of acknowledged standing. 

Hulda liked Boston from the first, and she thor¬ 
oughly loved her work, and soon felt as much at 


THE PICTURE 


29I 


home in the gray old streets going and returning from 
her studio work, as she once had felt in the rain- 
washed pine thickets of Hardup. 

One day Hulda went to the studio in considerable 
perplexity. Mrs. Markham had conceived a new 
idea. 

“Dacie, you must paint a California picture,” she 
had said, and the fact that Hulda had no California 
sketches of her own, had had no weight in combat¬ 
ing the new idea. So Hulda, desirous always of 
pleasing her, presented the matter to the artist, in 
whose fertility of invention she had much confidence. 

Alfred Hoffner watched the clear-eyed girl over his 
pupils’ easels for several hours, and then, coming to 
her side, he said: 

“I have a friend who has a portfolio of California 
sketches; perhaps he will favor you. I will go with 
you to his studio to-morrow, and we will see what 
we can do.” 

Hulda was very happy over the portfolio of 
sketches, and the two artists stood gravely over her, 
listening to her strong criticism and exclamations of 
delight. 

Suddenly she gave a little start and turned her face 
to the window and the great church spire outlined 
against the sky, for her eyes at once were full of 
tears, and the perfectly gloved hand holding the pict¬ 
ure trembled visibly. 

Alfred Hoffner came and looked over her shoulder. 
It was a study of pines and madrones, with a red 
bank and a rocky road in the foreground. A rabbit 


292 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


drank from a stream that ran across the road, and a 
mist, like snow, seemed to be whirling through the 
tree tops. 

“That would be very difficult for you,” said Alfred 
Hoffner, “besides, it is what I call a melancholy pict¬ 
ure—it is cold.” 

“No matter,” said the girl rising with the picture 
still in her hand, “let me try it. I know of places in 
the mountains just like that.” 

Walter Burleigh, the fellow artist, was of the opin¬ 
ion that the young lady had made a good selection. 

“Particularly,” he said with a glance at the girl, 
that seemed to her like a bow, “if the scene is familiar 
to her. But the canvas is too small for the subject. 
She might enlarge it and place in some figures. That 
is the way I intend to produce it. I found it one 
snowy afternoon about three years ago, in the lower 
Placer regions. Two young people came by on horse¬ 
back as I was coming away.” 

Hulda turned to go; she seemed in haste. 

“Miss Hardy,” said Alfred Hoffner, as they were 
going down in the elevator, “would you like to come 
here and do that picture?” 

“No, no,” she said hastily, “I had rather stay with 
you. You are very kind to get it for me.” 

And Alfred Hoffner thought her a singularly inter¬ 
esting girl. This interest in her deepened as she 
worked under his eye over the shadowy pine solitude 
with the faint touches of snow on the broad branches 
of the madrones. 

Hulda was no longer in Boston, the petted com- 


THE PICTURE 


293 


panlon of a rich woman, surrounded by everything 
that could contribute to her education and refine her 
tastes, but she was back on the rocky red roads of the 
placer regions, with her proud lover by her side; and, 
with the old sweet warmth, her heart stirred and 
throbbed under its wrappings of velvet and fur. 

Mrs. Markham was indisposed, and could not go to 
the studio to watch the progress of the picture as 
she would have desired, and Hulda worked on as in 
a dream. 

She was in a new, strange world. Was not the 
past divided from her forever? Who would ever 
know or dream that it was the tragedy of her heart 
that she was outlining under the shadows of the trees? 
A young woman on a bay horse started away, looking 
back from the shadow of a pine, while a young man 
was about to mount a large gray horse; and an expres¬ 
sion of pain grew on both faces as the girl’s brush 
hovered over them. 

Alfred Hoffner stood behind her chair and did not 
break her abstraction. Her composition was truly 
wonderful. She had already penciled the name on 
the back of the canvas “L’adieu.” 

The artist called on Mrs. Markham at her apart¬ 
ment in the Roslyn. He wanted the picture to re¬ 
main in Boston that winter to be placed on exhibi¬ 
tion, but Mrs. Markham shook her head. She was 
about to return to her home, and she wanted her ward’s 
best work to be hanging in her own parlor for the 
amusement of her own winter guests. 

“Outside of the Crocker gallery,” she said, “it will 
be the best picture in Sacramento.” 


294 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Hoffner packed the picture for shipping and then 
returned to the Roslyn. When he came to the 
Pacific coast in the spring, he wished to call and see 
the picture, and its fair author. But Mrs. Markham 
and her ward had gone. 

When the coachman was helping Hulda unpack 
the picture in the hall of Mrs. Markham’s mansion in 
Sacramento, a flood of misgivings rushed in on the 
girl’s mind. She wished the picture could have re¬ 
mained in Boston; any way, perhaps she could pre¬ 
vail upon her friend to hang it somewhere up-stairs, 
where every one could not see it. But Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham was then in the library waiting impatiently to 
see the picture, so she directed Donovan to carry it 
in, and came behind, lingeringly. 

Mrs. Markham was leaning back in a great easy 
chair, and the picture was placed where the full light 
of the bay window shone upon it. She sat silently 
regarding it for some time, while Hulda stood mo¬ 
tionless by the door. 

“Dacie.” 

As Hulda advanced she saw that her dear friend’s 
eyes were full of tears, and there was a perceptible 
quivering about the mouth. She stretched out her 
hand mutely, and Hulda came and knelt on a has¬ 
sock at her side, and the elderly woman drew the 
girl’s face to her shoulder. 

“Dacie,” she said lovingly, “why is it that you al¬ 
ways do everything to make me love you more and 
more. In some way you seem to belong to my life. 
I felt it as soon as I saw you at Hardup. Now tell 


THE PICTURE 


295 


me, dear, won’t you, how you came to get that figure 
of the young man, and the face?” 

Hulda was weeping. Mrs. Markham was so tender 
and gentle she could not help it. She loved Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham very dearly, but there was a sacred picture on her 
heart that was dearer. She was silent. 

“Did it come to you, Dacie, like an inspiration?” 

“Yes, Auntie, it came to me,” said the girl. It 
was a deception, yet in one way it was the truth. 

“Then it must have come to you in some myste¬ 
rious way out of my mind, for a form like that, and 
a face some like that, is always before me. Dacie, 
the young man you have painted reminds me so much 
of my first husband. Dear, it may be wrong, but 
I loved him more than I did Archie’s father. It may 
be wrong but there is a reason. Sometime I will tell 
you all about it. But this is a very, very strange 
circumstance. Perhaps, Dacie, if you don’t care, I 
will hang the picture up-stairs, for it seems to me I 
shouldn’t want everybody passing remarks about it.” 

Hulda kissed her white brow. The picture was 
also sacred to her. 

The two women had been so busy settling them¬ 
selves at home, and unpacking and arranging all the 
souvenirs of their travels, that they had not taken 
cognizance of the fact that the legislature had opened, 
and that the city was waking up to the usual excite¬ 
ments and festivities of the legislature winter. The 
next morning, however, brought a formal and especial 
invitation from Mrs. Col. Bruen that they should at¬ 
tend a little rceeption at her home that night. 


29 $ DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCft 

“I shall not go,” said Mrs. Markham at breakfast 
in her room in the tower wing. “I am not well 
enough. But you must go, Dacie, and we will un¬ 
pack our dresses to-day, and find you something to 
wear.” 

It would have pleased Hulda better to have spent 
the day in some other manner; she wanted to write 
to Mrs. Cornman and Cis; it had been several months 
since she had heard from them, and she had promised 
to write them as soon as she returned. But Mrs. 
Markham willed otherwise. Col. Bruen and his wife 
had never failed to be in her parlors when invited 
there, and if Mrs. Bruen was to open her house for 
a reception, she wanted to show all due respect. 

“It is probably some kind of a political move,” she 
said to Hulda, while they were at work with the 
dresses. “Col. Bruen always consolidates business 
with pleasure, and you will probably meet some of 
the legislature people there. I want you to wear my 
diamonds, Dacie, I shall not go out out much this 
winter, anyway.” 

“Auntie,” resumed the girl after a time, “do you 
think I am likely to meet Willie Dudley there? I 
shall not ffhow what to say to him.” 

Mrs. Markham leaned back in her rocker and tried 
to speak sternly. 

“Well, Dacie, after all the training I have given 
you, I am sorry if you cannot conduct yourself properly 
under such circumstances. It was not your fault that 
the young fellow came on to Boston to propose to 
you, and came back disappointed. You don’t regret 
it, do you, Dacie?” 


THE PICTURE 


297 


“Oh, dear, no!” cried the girl honestly. 

“Then, dear, you must meet him just as if he were 
an old acquaintance, and you must show no emotion 
or consciousness whatever. Take pains to treat him 
well and put him at his ease before others, and be 
sure and not make any opening for another overture. 
I presume you will have several rejected lovers before 
the season is out, and you must learn to treat them 
just as you do other people.” 

Hulda smiled quietly 

“But then, if your own heart gets affected, you 
must let me know.” 

“Which is not likely,” said the girl laughing. “I 
wouldn’t marry, even to please you.” 

“And it would never please me,” sighed Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham, with a touch of sadness in her manner, “unless 
—unless—my boy—Oh, Dacic, let’s talk about some¬ 
thing else.” 

Colonel Bruen had taken one of the largest houses 
for rental in the city, and had thrown open the entire 
ground floor for his first reception. The guests were 
largely of his own choosing, with his wife’s active 
co-operation. They were disappointed not to have 
Mrs. Markham, for she was a person of much influ¬ 
ence, but the Markham carriage at the door, and the 
presence of the stylish and talented Miss Hardy, was 
a great deal. 

Mrs. Bruen brought her downstairs from the 
dressing room, with a smile of satisfaction. The 
vrey person she wanted came forward. 

“Ah, Mr. Dudley, will you take Miss Hardy into 


298 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


the front parlor and introduce her to some of the 
new people you know?” Then she called him back. 

“And, say. Introduce her as Miss Markham. 
Most of them will never know the difference, and it 
will be better for the colonel, you know.” 

Willie Dudley did not care. Anything was satis¬ 
factory to him, under the circumstances. Miss Hardy 
was so provokingly cool, and agreeable. He had 
never seen her so strikingly handsome and self-pos¬ 
sessed. She wore a soft-black lace dress, with her 
white arms gleaming from the drapery, and five large 
diamonds sparkled at her throat and in her ears. 
She held a large pink feathery fan, and a fragrant 
cluster of heliotrope blossoms rose and fell on her 
bosom. 

“I’d just like to see some other young fellow as 
miserable as I am,” thought the unhappy Dudley. 

So he introduced her to a gray-haired, abstracted 
senator, from Southern California, and went in 
search of his victim. 

The victim was at hand willing to be introduced 
to a certain beautiful Miss Dacie Markham. Willie 
Dudley touched her arm. 

“I want to present one of t-he brliliant young as¬ 
semblymen from the mountains.” 

She moved slightly. She was listening to some¬ 
thing the senator was saying about oranges. 

“Miss Markham, permit me to introduce Mr. Ed¬ 
ward La Grange.” 

Willie Dudley had performed his duty and gone. 
A beautiful woman stood strangely pale and still, and 







Both were dumb—motionless.” 


David oi Juniper Gulch. 



THE PICTURE 


299 


her fan lay at the feet of the tall young man, who 
had arrested his formal bow, and had thrown his 
head back in the old defiant way. Both were dumb, 
motionless and petrified from the surprise and revela¬ 
tions of the moment. Hulda recovered herself first, 
at least partially. Mrs. Markham’s instructions were 
still fresh in her mind. “Do not show any emotion; 
treat him just as you do other people.” Then came 
a wild beating at her heart, and a trivial thought be¬ 
came uppermost in her mind—her fan. How should 
she recover her fan? La Grange would never pick 
it up with that set, proud look on his face. 

But the gray-haired senator picked it up, placed it 
in her hand, bowed and turned away. This brought 
La Grange to his senses. Was he not before the 
public eye every moment? His own position de¬ 
manded everything that was gentlemanly and cour¬ 
teous in his outward appearance. He bowed stiffly, 
and then extended his hand. 

“It gives me great pleasure to meet you again, 
especially under such favorable circumstances, Miss, 
Ah—” 

“Miss Hardy, please,” she said, her eyes flashing 
now. “Mr. Dudley had no authority from me to 
change my name. But I did not know you were 
here or even in town.” 

She gave him the tip of her fingers, and both per¬ 
fectly cool and collected now, were silent for some 
moments, as if, being newly introduced they were at 
loss for something to say. When she spoke it was 
with the same audaciously charming manner that 
Willie Dudley had found so oppressive. 


3 °° 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“And so you are one of our legislators, Mr. La 
Grange. I am glad to know of your success. Your 
constituents are to be congratulated, Mr. La Grange.” 

He also brought to his aid his usual self-possessed 
personality. 

“You do not read the papers very closely, Miss 
Hardy.” 

“But you must excuse my ignorance. We have 
been away six months, and are just from Boston. 
Tell me all about it, Mr. La Grange.” 

“Wouldn’t it amuse you, Miss Hardy, to know that 
I ran against your old friend Mr. Cornman, and beat 
him against the popular party?” 

A burst of girlish laughter rang through the room, 
and attracted the momentary attention of several 
groups. Then she flushed with something like the 
old red roses in her cheeks, and he enjoyed her con¬ 
fusion. 

“I think I owe a great many votes to your friend 
David Strong.” He noted that she only smiled a 
little with mention of the name. “He worked right 
and left for me in his party, though I do not see why 
he should be opposed to Cornman, and I don’t know 
why he should work for me, either. Mr. Strong is a 
man of considerable influence too. He is making 
money, doubtless that helps some, but Strong is a 
good fellow.” 

“Yes, I think he is a good man,” she said simply. 
“How is he making money?” 

“He has a very good mine in some mysterious 
place, I believe, called Juniper Gulch. We might 
see him down here this winter.” 


THE PICTURE 


301 


“I beg pardon, Miss Dacie,” Mrs. Bruen was at her 
elbow, “but I wish to introduce Mr. La Grange to 
some San Francisco people, if you will excuse him 
for a moment.” 

Miss Hardy smiled a gracious assent, La Grange 
bowed and the ordeal was over. 

Shortly after, Mrs. Bruen was summoned to the 
dressing room by one of the attendants. Miss Hardy 
was putting on her wraps and wished to be excused. 
She seemed quite ill, so Mrs. Bruen thought. She 
excused her with many regrets, and the carriage was 
called. And Hulda went home, and, pale and trem¬ 
bling, knelt by Mrs. Markham’s couch, and begged 
that she might be allowed to share her winter’s re¬ 
tirement. 

“Oh, nonsense!” said Mrs. Markham, “I shall get 
a maid to take care of you, if you come home sick 
again. But, stay at home? Never. I can’t allow 
that.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“the child is mine.” 

For a week or two after this it seemed to Hulda 
that she could go nowhere, but that La Grange was 
there, the most prominent object before her eyes. 
They were introduced over and over again by well 
meaning friends. A perfect system of polite civilities 
existed between them. Each saw the other’s popu¬ 
larity, and each was determined to lose no footing 
by ignoring it. For the sake of social pre-eminence 
they ignored any previous acquaintance, and treated 
each other publicly with marked deference, and they 
walked, sat and talked together with smiles, speaking 
of generalities in brilliant bits of conversation. 

After several meetings of this kind there came to 
Hulda’s relief a feeling something like hatred and 
scorn. After all he was nothing to her, and she 
was glad of it. He was a selfish, ambitious man; he 
loved no one but himself. This new feeling afforded 
a certain kind of relief. * 

But her Hardup friends, with their reminders of 
her simple but troubled girlhood, seemed to be 
gathering about her. 

Mrs. Markham received a note from Mrs. Cornman. 
She and her husband were coming to the capital city 
302 


“the child is mine*' 303 

to spend a week. Mrs. Markham immediately wrote, 
inviting them to her house for dinner and the even¬ 
ing, upon a certain day. She anticipated great 
pleasure in showing them the improvements she had 
made upon the simple country school-teacher, whom 
she had taken to her home two and a half years pre¬ 
vious. 

And Mrs. Cornman appreciated it all, and was as 
proud as if she herself had been the sole cause of the 
girl’s good fortune. She was full of her own life 
and interests as usual. Mr. Cornman had grown 
younger, seemingly. 

The sweet-heart of his boyhood had become the 
guiding star of his life. She brought forward the 
best in him, and stimulated him to his greatest 
efforts. He carried himself with more ease and dig¬ 
nity, and his appearance was still further improved 
by a suit of superior fineness and finish, such as he 
had not possessed before the rule of Aurelia Corn- 
man. 

They were not at all discomfited by his political 
defeat. He had had to run against a practicing 
lawyer, and the most popular man in the county, ex¬ 
plained Mrs. Cornman. La Grange was a rising 
man, and a thoroughly good man, she believed. He 
had treated them in the most manly way. Since the 
election he had secured the Forest Grove principal- 
ship for Mr. Cornman, and promised him the County 
Superintendency whenever he wished to run. Mrs. 
Cornman honestly explained that the favor of a man 
like La Grange was worth as much to them as a 
short term in the legislature. 


3 o 4 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Mrs. Cornman wanted to talk with Hulda alone, 
and after the dinner was over and her husband was 
giving the hostess his views on the Chinese question, 
she boldly suggested to the girl that she had not seen 
the conservatory. Hulda took her out and pinned a 
cluster of orchids to her friend’s throat, with her 
white, perfumed hands. Mrs. Cornman clasped her 
waist and looked at her with proud admiration. 

“Do you know, I’ve had a brilliant idea since I came 
here,” she said. 

“Your ideas are always so, Mrs. Cornman,” said 
Hulda. 

“But this is especial—very. Do you know, Hulda, 
you and our Mr. La Grange would make a splendid 
match. Such a union of style, and talent and all.” 

The girl drew away slightly, but smiled composedly. 

“Don’t lower yourself to such schemes, Mrs. Corn- 
man. Your idea is quite impossible. I am not a 
marrying girl. Don’t you see I am wedded to my 
painting? Besides, La Grange, it seems to me—it 
seems to me,” she was apparently reflecting, her chin 
in her hand, “it seems to me he was already engaged, 
even three years ago, to one of those Bird’s Flat 
girls. He ought to marry a politician’s daughter.” 

“But, Hulda,” insisted this engineering woman, 
“he has some peculiar interest in you, I know. He 
called on me after the election, and I was speaking 
of you. He said he owed much of his success to 
some things you had said to him. He said your can¬ 
did expression of opinion quite broke him of a bad 
habit he used to have of practicing petty deceits to 


“THE CHILD IS MINE” 


305 


gain advantage. He spoke as if he would like you 
to know it, too. We all think he is absolutely per¬ 
fect up there. I know he got his election honestly. 
I remembered how you treated him at your mother’s 
funeral, too, and I explained that away. I knew 
you didn’t mean to do that, and I told him about it, 
to tell him so.” 

Hulda was bending over a La France rose that had 
bloomed in the sunny corner. 

“There was more said about you, too, and I am 
going to tell you all. He asked me point blank if 
that scandal about you and the baby was true.” 

It is needless to say that Mrs. Cornman was also 
seeking satisfaction for her own curiosity. Hulda’s 
face was white as she put her lips to the pink rose, 
and Mrs. Cornman was a trifle near-sighted. 

“And what did you tell him, Mrs. Cornman?” 

“I told him you had neither confessed or denied it. 
Why didn’t you deny it, Hulda?” 

The face was turned away now, and there was a 
hard, set look about the lips. The pain at her heart 
was unendurable, but she was supreme over the mo¬ 
ment. 

“Very well, Mrs. Cornman,” she said firmly, “I 
will put you all at rest on that point now and for¬ 
ever. I don’t need the favor of the mountain people. 
When Mr. La Grange asks you about it again, you 
tell him that the child is mine, and that I said so. 
Come, Mrs. Markham will need me.” 

She took the arm of the breathless woman and led 
her swiftly back to the front parlor. Here she as- 

David of Juniper Gulch 20 


306 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

tonished Mrs. Markham by sitting down to the piano 
and playing several noisy marches, and then direct¬ 
ing her entire conversation, spiced with brilliant and 
witty remarks, to the somewhat bewildered husband 
of Mrs. Cornman. 

When the guests had gone Hulda helped Mrs. 
Markham to her bed with her usual gentle offices, 
and then, barely across the threshold of her own 
room, she sunk into the soft curly rug, clutching the 
wool spasmodically, and smothering the moans on 
her lips. There was but one thought and it ran over 
and over in her brain. 

“He doubts my honor, he thinks so; he thinks I 
am unworthy! My God, my God, help me now!” 

Long after midnight she crept to her bed to seek 
the sleep she knew she must have. As far as she 
was able to judge she thought that Mrs. Cornman 
would communicate her newly acquired information 
to her husband, who would probably find some way 
of informing La Grange. The girl had been driven 
into a corner by a weapon that probed deeply, and 
in a moment of anger she had thrown out a defiant 
falsehood to protect her at least form further attacks. 

“It is all over now,” she reflected, when she awoke 
in the morning. “If he can think evil of me, he 
might as well believe it. I am glad this is the end.” 

For several days thereafter Hulda kept to her 
studio. Mrs. Markham had her easiest chair taken 
up that she might watch the work of the brush. 

“I want to go to Italy,” said Hulda, patting the 
color on the cheek of a girl-head study. 


“THE CHILD IS MINE” 307 

“Well, you shall go to Italy, Dacie, when Archie 
comes out,” said Mrs. Markham. 

The door opened. It was Satsuma, the soft-footed 
Jap-waiter, recently employed for the winter. 

“Ther’s a man in the parlor wants to see Miss 
Hardy.” 

“Oh, Satsuma!” cried Mrs. Markham, “you are all 
wrong again. Say ‘A gentleman to see Miss Hardy.’” 

“Is there a card?” said Hulda. Satsuma shook his 
head, smiling blandly. 

Miss Hardy went down wonderingly. No wonder 
Satsuma was mystified. A large man in a short coat, 
his hat in his lap, sat upright in the great crimson 
silk chair, staring at a statuette in the corner. Hulda 
advanced to the center of the room. All her girl¬ 
hood rushed back upon her, the bright days of dime 
socials, and writing-schools. This man had been her 
brother and friend. Now all the world was hollow. 
She held out both hands. 

“Oh, David, David. I wanted to see you.” 

David came and kissed her, with his arm around 
her. She was his sister and had always been. 

“What a beautiful lady you have grown to be! 
You’re stunning, Hulda. Why, what’s the matter? 
Don’t cry, Hulda, there don’t, don’t.” 

“Oh, it's nothing, Dave. But you came upon me 
so suddenly. You made me think of mother, and— 
everything. I’m all right now. Come, sit down 
and tell me all the news.” 

She pressed him into the silk chair, and brought 
the light extra piano stool close to the arm, for her¬ 
self. 


3°8 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Let me take your hat, David. Dear me, you 
look just like your good old self. Now tell me all 
about Cis. How is she any way? Dear little Cis, I 
suppose she’s perfectly happy.” 

David smiled. He was quite susceptible to the 
pretty compliments of an accomplished woman. 

“She’s what I came to see you about, Hulda. 
She’s not very well. She worries too much, about 
nothing, too.” 

“Worries. I heard you were making money, 
David.” 

“Oh, yes, it ain’t that. You see, she’s, she’s, 
well, low spirited like.” 

“Oh, what’s the cause of that? Is she well?” 

“Oh, yes, that is, pretty well. But she’s, she’s 
kind of bothered and anxious. Er—er—” 

“Anxious? How, Dave?” 

David fidgeted in his seat, and his face took on 
several deeper shades of perplexity. 

“Er—er—it’s anxiety about herself About her 
future health, you know. Poor girl, I’m all worried 
out too. Hulda, do many women die, die—when—• 
My poor little girl wife!” 

The young husband’s head was bent in his hands. 

“No, Dave, she will not die.” 

Hulda spoke suddenly and firmly, and rose and 
went away to the window. She was gone so long that 
David moved uneasily. When she returned to him 
her face had the same look, as when she took Cis to 
her heart after her mother’s death, and she had 
crowded all her heart and life down, and had taken 
up the old burden of her life. Cis needed her again, 


“THE CHILD IS MINE” 309 

and for David’s sake, and for her sainted mother’s 
sake, she would be her helper. 

She sat down again by David. 

“I will tell you what to do, Dave. You bring her 
down here where you can get some good doctor to 
bring her through.” 

“Yes,” said David, “that’s just what she wants to 
do. But I didn’t know. How had we better fix up 
here?” 

Hulda walked the floor and thought. 

“The best way to do,” she said, “will be to get a 
little furnished house in a quiet place. I know of one 
to rent down somewhere about 8th and G. Streets. 
Get her down there, Dave, and I will come and cheer 
her up.” 

David looked relieved. 

“I’ll shut up the farmhouse and bring her right 
down,” he said. 

He then went away and Hulda went back to her 
work on the girl’s head with the steadier nerve that 
resolution affords. 

With the exception of Mrs. Cornman, whom she 
admired, Mrs. Markham took not the slightest inter¬ 
est in her companion’s country friends. When told 
that it was David Strong who had called, she said 
wonderingly: 

“Oh, your agent of your property. Well, Dacie, 
we can get on very nicely without any of those low 
country people who did not appreciate you.” 

And Hulda knew that she did not wish to be 
troubled by them, and that her visits to Cis must be 
few and short. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


ASSEMLY BILL NO. 334. 

It was not at all surprising that Max Royse should- 
be the representative in the Assembly that winter 
from a district in San Francisco, not distinguished 
at any time by the high moral tone of its political 
managers. Royse was brought forward as part of a 
system, and was capable of doing the work he was 
expected to do. Financially he had given generous 
assistance to the campaign, and the campaign had 
placed him somewhat ahead in his ambitious schemes. 
He was aiming high now, and aiming well, and as far 
as outward appearances went he was just as desirable 
a candidate for higher political honors, as any man 
before the public. 

Mrs. Ellis also had risen grandly to the demands 
of the time. The prosperity and advancement of 
Royse was also her prosperity and advancement, 
and she was not lacking in any of the arts, graces 
and accomplishments that she might need as the lady 
friend of a public and popular man. She no longer 
lived at the lodging house; her private rooms were 
far out on Pine Street, with a sunny bay window, 
and a bit of a flower garden to walk in. She was 
thoroughly genteel in her habits. She sometimes 
went to church on Sunday, where she sat in a pew 
310 


ASSEMBLY BILL NO. 334 


311 

with Royse’s children, with their nurse and the gov¬ 
erness. 

In fact Royse had nearly decided to marry her. 
She had come up to the Capital City and was oc¬ 
cupying for a time, a suite of rooms at a popular hotel 
on K. Street. Royse was somewhat anxious to see 
how she would appear in such a place. If he had 
had any doubts as to her capabilities they were 
speedily dispelled. She was a queen wherever she 
appeared. She was vastly superior in grace, style, 
presence and tact to any of the women he found a 
chance to introduce her to in the hotel parlors, or in 
the Capitol building. He found some lobbying for 
her to do, and she did it far better than he had 
expected. There was only one thing troubling Royse 
at this time; he wished that he was sure old Ellis 
was really dead. Not that he cared, personally, but 
his appearance alive after the marriage, might overdo 
his capacity for lying, and compromise his political 
success. The captain of the whaler had sworn to 
him that old Ellis had been killed in a drunken row 
at Sitka, but he had sometimes thought that the 
captain’s word was no better than his own at certain 
times. But Mrs. Ellis believed the captain’s story; 
she was glad to believe it; not but what she had loved 
John Ellis in his sober days, but his drinking days 
had ruined him and herself to, and now she saw the 
door of society open to her as the wife of the thor¬ 
oughly ambitious and progressive Royse. 

Royse, any way, was crippled without her. He 
needed her at every turn, and when he had summoned 


312 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


her to the Capital, he was in her parlor as often as 
he could and dared be, for her counsel and help. 

The afternoon was rainy and cold. It was just 
before dinner at the popular and crowded hotel, and 
Mrs. Ellis stood before the long glass in her little 
parlor surveying the details of her new silk costume. 
She was a mass of shining jet. Royse was tipping 
back in a chair before her fire, his hands in his pock¬ 
ets, his hair in a tumble, and his mind in a state of 
perplexity. 

“Minerva,” he cried, “come away from that glass. 
I never saw you look better. See here,” he continued 
in a lower tone, as she came forward, “I must be 
sure of one more vote on that Assembly Bill No. 334, 
or it won’t go through. I’ll be blessed if I haven’t 
tried every dodge in the world on that La Grange to 
find out how he’s going to vote, but I can’t open his 
mouth.” 

“Have you tried the good old way, Max?” 

“No, I’m afraid to.” 

“Afraid!” he cried in astonishment. 

“You don’t know anything about it, Minerva. He’s 
a new man. These new ones are finicky sometimes. 
If I should be barking up the wrong tree, he might 
do me a great deal of harm.” 

“Why don’t you hire some one to do your dirty 
work, Max?” 

“Oh, yes, I hired you once, and got fooled.” 

They both laughed. Any allusion to that old affair 
was considered humorous. 

“Come here to the window, Max, I want to show 
you something.” 


ASSEMBLY BILL NO. 334 313 

Standing back of her, he looked where she pointed. 

“Do you see that fellow standing there leaning 
against that lamp-post? Looks as if he might be 
fresh from the country, or some far away rustic region. 
I see him hanging around that corner every day. He 
acts perfectly stupid; I don’t think he knows any¬ 
thing at all. Now you smuggle him up here after 
dinner and I’ll sit in the bedroom while you talk to 
him. I believe you could hire him for a cent. And 
I’ll tell you, Max, if you can buy La Grange’s vote, 
you’d better do it, for we’re behind, if that Bill don’t 
go through.” 

Late that evening La Grange sat writing in his 
room on the first floor of a tasteful residence on M. 
Street. He had taken board and lodging where he 
would be the least subject to interruption. He did 
his own writing and most of that at night, when 
some social call of paramount importance did not 
call him away. 

He was working beyond his strength, he knew, but 
work was his pleasure, and he knew he could get 
some rest as soon as he would return to Forest Grove, 
his office and his cases now on hand. A stack of 
written letters lay on his desk, and he was about to 
begin another, when the ringing of the door-bell dis¬ 
turbed him. He was sorry that his landlady should 
be disturbed so late, and he hoped it was not on his 
account. Then he heard his name and a light tap 
on his door. 

“Come right in.” 

The door opened and closed, and he glanced up. 


3H 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


He was used to receiving messages from his colleagues 
that way. A strange looking man, muffled to his 
ears, and his hat over his eyes, stood there in awk¬ 
ward silence. 

“Well,” said La Grange, with some impatience, 
“what is it now?” 

Still muffled and in a constrained voice the man 
said: 

“What’ll you take to vote for Assembly Bill No. 
334, and send back word by me?” 

"La Grange looked at him contemptuously, and 
turning to his desk took up his pen. 

“Well, my good fellow, you go back and tell the 
man that sent you here, that it’s none of his business.” 

He began writing. Still the stranger waited; then 
La Grange looked up. 

“You’d better go, young man. This thing won’t 
work either as a catch or a bribe.” He rose and 
opened the door. Then with a chuckling laugh the 
coat was pulled down and the hat pushed up. La 
Grange shut the door and sat down breathless. The 
man before him was none other that Buck Dorms. 

“Why, Buck, what does this mean? What are 
you in a low business like this for?” cried the aston¬ 
ished Assemblyman. 

Buck sat down, unusually self-possessed. 

“Don’t know that I am in any low business. A 
fellow called me up to his room and gave me a 
twenty to come and do it, and I allowed it was no 
harm; I got the twenty and you do as you please. 
Besides I thought it was a good scheme to get to see 
you.” 


ASSEMBLY BILL NO. 334 


315 

La Grange laughed and came and shook his hand 
warmly. 

“Well, Buck, if it’s a purely social visit, I suppose 
it’s all right. Well, well, really Dorms, I’m glad to 
see you. You carry me back to ‘Auld lang syne’ 
and all that. Buck, it’s been an age since I saw 
you.” 

The visitor rose awkwardly with his hat in his hand. 

“Well, I suppose you hain’t got no time to talk, 
anyhow.” 

La Grange pressed him down, and took his hat. 

“Time? Buck, I’ve got oceans of time to talk to 
an old friend like you. Well, I declare! It makes 
me young again to see you. That was a jolly picnic 
we had on Cherry Creek, wasn’t it? Oh, by the 
way, that was the time you eloped with your girl. 
Hal ha! ha! That was great, Buck! You’re a 
genius.” 

Buck warmed before such geniality, and smiled all 
over his face. 

“Well, I guess I can’t say the same for you, sir.” 

“Why, Mr, Dorms?” 

“Well, I got my girl, and you lost yours.” 

It was Buck’s turn to laugh loudly. 

“It looks like it, Buck. You have the joke on me 
fair and square.” 

La Grange did not wish to continue that subject, 
so he said: 

“You haven’t told me how your wife is, and how 
you’re getting on these days. How are the little 
ones? I suppose there are some babies by this time. 


316 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 




“Yes, sir,” said Buck, “that’s just what’s the mat¬ 
ter. We’ve had rather hard luck. Our little boy’s 
got a bad leg, sir, and we’re down here having him 
doctored.” 

“Why, indeed,” said La Grange, sympathetically. 
“What a pity! Is he getting better?” 

“Well, I don’t know. You see the ankle’s crooked, 
and the doctor has been having clamps on it. Now 
he thinks he will have to do some surgical operation 
on it. We’ve got a little house down on 5th and Q. 
Streets, and it’s rather hard lines, with doctor bills 
and everything.” 

La Grange thrust his hand in his pocket. 

“It is indeed! Now, see here, Buck. Don’t you 
take any more dirty money from those legislature 
sharps. When you want money, come to me. I 
guess we’re having rain enough to furnish sheep feed. 
I can trust you on that.” 

He took out a twenty dollar piece. Buck looked 
grateful. 

“Wait till that fellow’s shiner is gone. I earned it 
square enough. I done what he told me to, and I 
ain’t give him away either.” 

“I don’t want you to,” answered the young Assem¬ 
blyman. 

“Besides,” continued Buck, “I’m getting a job now 
an’ then helping to load, down on the river front. 
But when the doctor bill comes in, I’ll call on you.” 

“All right, do,” said La Grange. “What? going 
already? Well, good-night, Buck, and come and see 
me whenever you need me.” 


ASSEMBLY BILL NO. 334 


317 


Buck went out and La Grange sat down and took 
his pen. It might have been the picnic days, it might 
have been Assembly Bill No. 334, but he held the 
pen motionless, and for some time was lost in silent 
thought. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM. 

In due time, Hulda had received a note from Cis, 
and had walked down to see her, early one morning, 
to the house that she had described to David. It 
was a plain little house, neatly furnished, but Cis had 
a good girl in the kitchen, and, though not very well, 
she was contented and happy. Hulda soon found 
from her confidences, that Cis had mostly been 
troubling herself, that she might be closer to the 
friend of her girlhood. She had premonitions of 
coming evil, and her slight knowledge of physical 
truths awoke certain fears, that the early tragedy of 
her life might be disclosed. She wanted to be with 
strangers in a strange place, and especially near 
Hulda. 

Hulda, in a fur-trimmed cloak, with soft black 
feathers drooping over her large hat, sat looking com¬ 
posedly at the unfortunate woman, as these confi¬ 
dences were slowly disclosed. Then Cis drew her 
friend’s face down to her couch and kissed her, with 
the little white hands clinging to her pleadingly and 
refusing to be denied comfort. Hulda then renewed 
her promise, that never, through her, should the 
secret be divulged. 


318 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


319 


She then learned a bit of news, that at first startled 
her, not from the fact itself, but from the circum¬ 
stance, that so many of her mountain home mem¬ 
ories were clustering around her. She remembered 
the gratitude and affection of Millie, and was grieved 
to know of her affliction. 

Q. and 5th Street was a part of the city where 
Donovan never took them when out driving, and she 
knew it to be a low and unhealthful part of town. 

That afternoon when she took the carriage to re¬ 
turn a few society calls in which Mrs. Markham was 
not interested, she requested Donovan to find the 
house for her. In the two years and a half that had 
elapsed since their last meeting, Millie had lost her 
feeling of familiar friendship for her old teacher, and 
met her with awkward constraint. The poorly fur¬ 
nished house that they had rented was small, and 
Millie had only her kitchen in which to receive her 
caller. There were but two bedrooms; and one was 
rented, Millie explained, to an old man. The lame 
boy, the oldest, lay in a cradle, and a ruddy baby 
boy of about nine months rolled on the floor. 

When Hulda bent over the cradle and saw the heavy 
clamps on the child’s leg, its white face and great, 
dark, hollow eyes, her heart was moved with pity for 
Millie and her troubles. She sat down in the dingy 
little kitchen, and tried to cheer and comfort the young 
mother. 

Millie looked at her rich cloak, handsome feathered 
hat, fine cloth dress and perfect gloves, and tried to 
recognize her old.teacher in this elegant person. But 


320 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

she was proud, that she should have come to the 
humble home, and her cheeks glowed with excite¬ 
ment and pleasure. 

While they were talking a door opened, and a gray, 
but rugged looking man, came in and sat down by 
the fire. He had a hardened, yet not unkindly ex¬ 
pression, and after he had stirred the fire a little, he 
seemed lost in his own reflections. 

Millie followed Hulda to the gate. 

“He’s my boarder,” she said. “He works on the 
river front where Buck works. He likes Buck and 
wanted to come here, so we let him. It helps us and 
he’s awful good to little Willie.” 

Hulda was glad that she had called, and spoke of 
it to Mrs. Markham in a general way, but Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham did not seem to be particularly interested in any 
of the mountain people, especially those who might 
have some demands on her companion’s time and at¬ 
tention. 

Shortly after, the Bruens called. The colonel 
never so sure that his various schemes would result 
in prosperity to himself; and Mrs. Bruen, happy in 
her policy, and confident that she was a necessity in 
the little social world, that she had evolved f r om the 
heterogeneous elements of a legislature winter. To¬ 
night she had a particularly bright idea on her mind. 
She wanted to take Mrs. Markham to the legislature 
with her the next day. The purport of the scheme, 
which would evolve naturally, was that Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham should take her in her carriage, and that the 
colonel should meet and introduce them at the leg- 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


321 


islature to certain persons he wished to affect by the 
solidity of his social standing. 

Mrs. Markham smiled and looked at Hulda. She 
knew that there was an ax to grind somewhere, but 
she was feeling particularly well, and there was no 
reason why she should not look into the legislature 
halls at least once during the winter, so she con¬ 
sented to go, and told Mrs. Bruen she would send the 
carriage for her. 

The Bruens made preliminary movements to go. 
Oh, there was one thing more! Mrs. Colonel had 
made the acquaintance of two very delightful people 
from San Francisco, an Assemblyman and the lady 
he expected shortly to marry. She would be so 
pleased to bring them to Mrs. Markham’s next “At 
home” evening. Mrs. Markham, standing on a large 
fluffy rug in the hall, leaning on Hulda’s arm, thought 
there would be no objections. Who were they? 

Oh, it was Hon. Mr. Royse and Mrs. Ellis, both 
stopping at the Imperial Hotel, and Mrs. Ellis was 
such a lovely and agreeable woman. 

Mrs. Markham started as if in pain; it was a con¬ 
vulsive pressure on her arm, and a strange look on 
Dacie’s face. She gave her hand in parting to Mrs. 
Bruen, and begged to defer the matter for considera¬ 
tion. She had thought some of discontinuing her 
“At home” evenings, on account of her health. 

The door was closed. 

“What is it, Dacie?” 

“I have heard of those people, Auntie dear; I don’t 


David of Juniper Gulch 21 


322 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


think they are the kind you want. They say she 
keeps a lodging house.” 

“That settles it, Dacie. I will tell Mrs. Bruen to¬ 
morrow. Dear me, I would have a perfect mob here 
if I were not careful.” 

Hulda ran up to her room, chilled with horror. 
But she had all night to think it over, and she re¬ 
solved that if she ever chanced to meet those two 
polluted people, that she would be more than a match 
to them in self-controlled contempt. 

Mrs. Bruen, the next morning, was fearful that 
after all she might not get Mrs. Markham to alight 
from her carriage. She seemed to dread any sort of 
contact with a crowd, and her first view of the Cap¬ 
itol steps caused her to shrink back in her seat. Ap¬ 
parently a delegation of hack drivers, boys, and 
heterogeneous loungers had been sent out to receive 
her. But Colonel Bruen came running down the 
steps, so pleased that they had come, and so affable 
and cheerful, that Mrs. Markham stepped from the 
carriage, and leaning on the colonel’s arm, with Hulda 
close to her on the other side, they passed into the 
corridor and slowly climbed the stairs. Hulda was 
as nervous and ill at ease as her beloved friend, but 
she bravely controlled herself and watched Mrs. 
Markham with solicitude and care. 

Mrs. Bruen’s plans matured well. They chanced 
to meet several of the colonel’s friends in the upper 
halls, and the introductions they so desired followed, 
naturally. One of these gentlemen was an Assembly- 
man, and he was more than pleased to interest him- 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


323 


self directly in finding choice seats for the fair vis¬ 
itors; so they presently found themselves in three 
soft blue plush seats against the wall, at the right of 
the Speaker’s desk, and almost facing the entire As¬ 
sembly. 

The house was full at that moment, amusing itself 
while the Clerk was droning through the reading of 
a Bill, of which, however, the three visitors soon dis¬ 
covered, they could not understand word or sen¬ 
tence. 

Hulda rapidly scanned the large and disorderly 
body of men. She soon caught sight of La Grange 
far across the room at the left of the desk, but he 
was not amusing himself by talking, eating fruit, or 
sending messages by pages. He was looking over 
several letters in a dignified way, giving some atten¬ 
tion to the progress of the reading of the Bill. 

Hulda shrank back into the folds of a great drapery 
that concealed her face in its shadow, and began 
searching for those two that she dreaded to see, and 
that she dared not come upon unawares and un¬ 
guarded. 

Running her eyes over the crowded gallery, she 
saw an elegant figure appear and take a front seat 
that a young man had evidently been holding for 
some one. A fluffy fur was thrown back, long 
silky veil was removed, and Hulda looked through 
her opera glasses, and recognized the face of Mrs. 
Ellis, its pink and white beauty not at all damaged by 
the lapse of a few years. By the direction of Mrs. 
Ellis’ glances, she knew where Assemblyman Max 


324 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Royse was seated, or ought to be. Presently he came 
from another part of the room and sat down. He 
was seemingly tall, better tailored and barbered than 
before, and his hair a little gray, somewhat refined his 
appearance. He had a manner of having a great 
weight of affairs on his mind. Hulda shuddered as 
she lay far back in her seat under her furs, and 
thought of unhappy Cis, and her sad secret. Then 
she thought of David so noble and trusting. 

She turned her eyes to La Grange and prayed that 
his wife, whoever she might be, would be pure and 
innocent and heart-happy. 

Mrs. Bruen was whispering to Mrs. Markham and 
kept her entertained, and Hulda was glad. The 
dreary bill came to an end, and after a time another 
dreary bill began to be unintelligibly declaimed. 
There was a movement in the gallery, and the people 
seemed to be passing out. The girl rested her eyes 
on the handsome, conspicuous figure of Mrs. Ellis; 
she was looking down and smiling. Then Hulda’s 
eyes were attracted by a man who stood nearly be¬ 
hind the absorbed woman. There was an earnest¬ 
ness in his expression and attitude, that caught her 
attention. In a moment she remembered that she 
had seen him before. It was Millie’s boarder. He 
was somewhat old and unshaven, and unkempt in 
appearance. * There was a strange, hard look on his 
face, and he stood looking at the woman with a com¬ 
posed curiosity, as one might look at a curious article 
on display. 

While Hulda looked, he did not change his attitude, 
or remove his gaze from the woman. 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


325 


Hulda became interested in the strange tableau, 
and she was suddenly recalled to herself, by the sound 
of a familiar voice. She looked around. La Grange 
was on his feet, and he had begun speaking in a low, 
moderate tone. He stood nearly facing the Assembly, 
so that Hulda had a full view of his face and figure. 
The tumult of the room was slowly subsiding, and 
most of the faces in the room were turned to the 
young man, whose opening sentences, touched with 
quiet sarcasm, showed that he was speaking in op¬ 
position to the bill. He went on speaking, with no 
hint of excitement or eagerness, but with that pleas¬ 
ant insistence and strength of statement, which Hulda 
recognized as his old characteristics in mental conflict. 
He spoke as if the bill were already defeated. He 
made no charges, but Hulda began to see that his re¬ 
marks were ruinously sarcastic, relieved by bits of hu¬ 
mor that further attracted the attention of his hearers. 
Hulda was trying to decide just what the matter un¬ 
der consideration really was, when she felt her hand 
suddenly clasped, and Mrs. Markham was leaning 
heavily upon her, with drooping eyes, and paling 
cheeks. 

“Oh, Dacie, who’s that?” she murmured. 

Hulda encircled her with her arms, and called Mrs. 
Bruen’s attention. But Mrs. -Markham whispered 
in her ear: 

“No, I am not sick. Can’t we go out?” 

The colonel’s attention was shortly attracted; he 
comprehended in an instant, and with graceful ease 
he took Mrs. Markham’s arm and supported and led 


326 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


her through the crowded aisle, into the ante-room. 
Once outside Mrs. Bruen and Hulda were supporting 
her with solicitous questions, but she only looked at 
Hulda with pleading eyes, and kept hold of her hand. 

“I want nothing,” she murmured, “only to go 
home. I am not well,and this is such a crowd.” 

Once in the carriage, she laid her head on Hulda’s 
shoulder, and did not seem to see the Bruens, who 
were full of anxiety. 

At her door she gave her hand to them with a gen¬ 
tle good-afternoon, which indicated her desire to be 

alone. 

Hulda always knew about what to do. Dropping 
her wraps in the hall she assisted her companion to 
her own room without question or remark. She put 
her on the lounge, with soft pillows around her; saw 
that she was not fainting; removed her wraps; lit 
the fire in the grate; adjusted the light in the room, 
and ran down stairs for a glass of wine. She brought 
it to the lounge, and Mrs. Markham took it from her 
hand, with a faint smile, and drank part of it. She 
placed the half emptied glass on a stand at her head, 
then she clasped Hulda s waist, as she was about to 
turn way. 

“Dacie, Dacie,” she said, “I am a lonely, lonely 
woman. Stay close to me now.” Hulda knelt down, 
and with an arm about her, kissed her gently. 

“Why, I love to stay with you, Auntie. I am so 
sorry we took you out. That was a horrid crowd, 
and it distressed you, I know.” 

“No, no, Dacie,” she said. “No, matter. That 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


327 


wasn’t it. Have I been a good mother to you, 
child?” She put up her hand caressingly to the girl’s 
face. 

“Oh, Auntie, what makes you say that?”exclaimed 
the surprised girl. “You have been more than a 
mother. You have been everything to me. You 
have been too good.” 

Mrs. Markham looked at her silently, then she 
turned her face away, and Hulda saw the silent tears 
falling from her eyes. 

“Auntie, have I offended you?” 

“No, darling.” 

Hulda waited, silently caressing her hand. After 
some moments Mrs. Markham turned to her calmly 
with more strength in her tone. 

“Dacie, he seemed to me what my own boy might 
have been, and he looked so much like the child’s 
father. Oh, Dacie, the sin of my life keeps coming 
back to me. Can I ever forget it. Darling, I wish 
I could tell you all about it. But you would hate 
me. Oh, I did wrong, I know I did. And all my 
good deeds can’t wipe it out.” 

“No, Auntie, I don’t think you have ever done 
wrong,” said the girl calmly. “Tell me all about it. 
You will feel better, and I can help you, I know. 
What is it, dear?” 

Hulda had never seen her like this. She feared 
that a fever might be coming upon her, and had al¬ 
ready deranged her mind. But Mrs. Markham still 
clasped her hand, and seemed more composed. After 
a time she began speaking slowly. 


3 2 & DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

“I have wanted to tell you, Dacie, for a long time, 
but I feared one thing, and that was your condemna ¬ 
tion. I have borne my trouble all these years alone, 
and now I am too weak; I need some one to help 
me. Do you remember one time, I told you I lost 
my first husband and my child on the Isthmus? 
Dear, I will tell you the worst of it now. My hus¬ 
band died, but my little boy was stolen from me. I 
never knew what became of him. But that is not all 
or the worst. When I married Edward Markham, 

I knew that his brother James loved me, but I loved 
Edward best. James came away to California, and 
in a few years we followed to join him. We were 
sick with the fever at Panama and our steamer left 
us. I was supposed to be dead, when my husband 
lay dying beside me. My child had been taken away 
on the steamer, so they told me, when I recovered, 
and my husband was buried. When I arrived at San 
Francisco I sent for James to come, I was so worn 
and broken with my trouble, it was all I could do. 

I had several thousand dollars that we had hid in my 
clothing for the trip, and I ought to have used it all 
to hunt for my boy. I think the fever must have 
changed my whole nature at the time. I was so de¬ 
pendent on James for everything. We did try to 
find my little Edward. The steamer people remem¬ 
bered that a man in the steerage had had a little 
child, but he escaped from their notice as soon as the 
steamer came in, and in no way could we find him. 
We went up to the mines, but the mines were every¬ 
where then, and no one had seen such a person. 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


329 


Then I was so lonely and miserable—and I had no 
near relations here or East. James was kind and he 
loved me still, so in six months I was married to him 
and my money laid the foundation of our fortunes. 
A little girl was born to me, but when she was a year 
old she died, and then all the old sorrow came back 
to me. I began to feel that I should not have mar¬ 
ried. I should have given all my life to searching 
for my boy. But James had no sympathy. He said 
we might travel over all the states in the Union, and 
never find him. Then his business was here and our in¬ 
vestments were here, and James was always jealous 
of my lost boy. Four years later when Archibald was 
born, I was happy, and for many years thereafter. 
Now I have been a widow for eight years, and my first 
child, my little lost boy, seems to come nearer to me 
every day. I wish I knew that he was dead. And 
to-day when that young man stood up and spoke, he 
was so like my first husband, only Edward always wore 
a full, long beard; and his voice was like his, too. 
He seemed about the age my boy would be, nearly 
twenty-four. I was utterly overcome. Dacie, I wish 
I could know that young man. It would do me good 
to see him, after I got used to that strange resem¬ 
blance you know. That was the reason I took you, 
Dacie, and I did so much for other girls before 1 
found you. I wanted to atone for my lost boy. 
Dacie, do you think I could have found him if I had 
spent the rest of the money?” 

Hulda had sunk to the floor, and her head lay low 
on the couch by Mrs. Markham’s side, but she an¬ 
swered in a clear voice: 


330 


DAVID OF JUNIPER ‘GULCH 


“No, Auntie, you could never have found him.” 

“Why, Dacie?” 

“Because some one stole him for love of him, and 
they would have eluded you anyway.” 

“What makes you think so, dear?” 

“Because if they hadn’t they would have left word 
with the steamship company to try to find the child’s 
friends, and gain a reward.” 

Mrs. Markham was silent a long time, and Hulda 
did not move. Then she said: 

“I believe you are right, Dacie. I am glad I told 
you. You don’t think any the less of me, do you?” 

The girl lifted her head and folded her arms around 
her beloved friend. 

“Indeed I think a thousand times more of you, she 
murmured. Then she dropped her head and was 
again silent. 

“Dacie, do you know who that young man was?” 

“Yes, Auntie, I have met him several times in so¬ 
ciety. His name is La Grange. He is a nice young 
man, I think.” 

“Why have you never asked hirn to the house?” 

“Why, dear, I don’t know. It never happened to 
come about.” 

“Well, Dacie, we must attend to it, and I will in¬ 
clude him in my list of proteges.” 

Hulda rose up, nerving herself to calmness. 

“Now, we must have lunch, Auntie. I will go 
down and see about it. You must lie quiet, and I 
will have our lunch fixed right here.” 

She ran out, and down swiftly to Satsuma and the 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


331 


cook, and gave her orders. Satsuma could be trusted 
to take up dishes and set a little table in Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham’s room, and she told him just how she wanted 
it done. Then she ran up the narrow back stairs 
and shut herself a few moments in her own room. 
Her heart was beating so wildly she feared she could 
not restrain herself. The truth was clear to her 
mind. As many times as she had pondered over the 
romantic history of La Grange, she had never thought 
to connect it with the casual remark of Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham, that she had lost her husband and child on the 
Isthmus. But now everything was convincing, Mrs. 
Markham’s strange perturbation over the picture that 
was so like La Grange, her great mental excitement 
on seeing La Grange himself. Hulda pressed her 
hands to her throbbing temples and hot cheeks. The 
consequences to her of the revelation were overpow¬ 
ering, but she tried not to think of that. The great 
thought was not to excite the hopes of her beloved 
friend to meet disappointment. It was too serious 
a matter with the mother. She must be sure of the 
facts before she made any revelation. 

Waiting only long enough to compose herself she 
went to Mrs. Markham’s room, and found Satsuma 
trying his best to make the dishes look just right on 
the table. She dismissed him with a smile, and, 
with a few deft movements, she changed the entire 
plan of the arrangement; then opening a small cab¬ 
inet she took out two dainty Haviland china cups and 
a quaint silver bowl. Then she dew to the garden 
for three red, dewy roses, stepping into the kitchen 


332 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


on her way back, to see that the toast was just right. 

Mrs. Markham was sitting up in her rocker when 
she returned; with quiet, steady eyes, and a strange 
look in her face. 

“Dacie,” she said tenderly, “you are such a treas¬ 
ure. I couldn’t get on without you. You won’t 
ever get married, will you? Let me smell those 
roses. How sweet they are! Put them in the other 
vase. There!” 

Satsuma here brought in a tray and Hulda ar¬ 
ranged the lunch. Mrs. Markham sat up and sipped 
her tea reflectively. 

“Dacie, now don’t you think you could arrange it 
very soon?” she asked. 

“What, Auntie?” 

“Why, to get that Mr. La Grange here so I could see 
him. Don’t think I am crazy, Dacie. I don’t im¬ 
agine he is my lost boy. I am not so silly as that, 
but I know I should like him for his resemblance.” 

“I might try,” answered the girl slowly, looking into 
her cup. “When would you feel able to meet him, to¬ 
night?” 

“To-night? Perhaps, but how could you bring it 
about?” 

“I think the Bruens know him, Auntie. If I asked 
her, she would do most anything to get him here.” 

Mrs. Markham laughed with a merry appreciation 
of the sarcasm. 

“Poor Mrs, Bruen, we make her a cat’s paw for 
everything. She’d take a public hack to go and get 
him, if we told her to, but we mustn’t do anything 
so bold.” 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


333 


“Just leave it to me,” answered the girl, with good 
natured confidence. “I’ll arrange it somehow. I 
will take the carriage this afternoon for some calls, 
but you must stay at home and rest, won’t you?” 

“I will, dear, I suppose there will be company to¬ 
night. Who else will you have besides this young 
La Grange?” 

Hulda came and kissed her. “I don’t know, Aun¬ 
tie. Now I will go and I will be home to dinner at 
six. Rest all you can.” 

Hulda ran to her room, but she only stood looking 
at her wraps in perplexing thought. 

To go and see La Grange who had treated her 
with such coolness and contempt, and tell him she 
had found his mother? Never. And what if it 
might not be true. He would think she was planning 
to renew the old affair. 

And what if he proved to be the long lost child? 
Then Mrs. Markham would be his, no longer hers. 
And this property earned with his money! He had 
more right to that, than even Archie. And she could 
no longer be a dependent on the property of the man 
who despised her. Neither would Mrs. Markham 
need her. Her own son would fill that longing in 
her heart that had been so hard to satisfy, and he 
would be everything. She thought of his adroitness, 
his gallantry and thoughtfulness. She was glad for 
Mrs. Markham. He was more than worthy of his 
good fortune. She walked the floor till Satsuma 
knocked. 

“The carriage wait, Miss Hardy.” 


334 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


She had not made any plans. To go and see La 
Grange herself she could not. As for that, rattle¬ 
headed Mrs. Bruen, that was out cf the question. 

As she walked through the garden drawing on her 
gloves, she had not found any idea that suited her. 
Putting her hand on the gate, the right thought came 
to her. She could write him a note. So she went 
back to her room, sat down to her desk and wrote 
hastily. 

“Mr. La Grange: — 

“Will you kindly call at the residence of Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham this evening, and send your card to her. I have 
just learned that she lost a son on the Isthmus about 
the time you were stolen there. Please state your 
errand to her, and explain your history. I have not 
given her any warning, but she knows who you are, 
and will be glad to see you anyway. Very re¬ 
spectfully, 

“H. H.” 

She enclosed this in an envelope, having the name 
and address of Mrs. Markham on the corner, and 
without sealing it went back to the carriage. She 
had already decided not to trust it to the mails. 

“You may drive down to the Capitol, Donovan,” 
she said, “I have a message to deliver for Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham.” 

At the Capitol Donovan carried it up-stairs, gave 
it to the doorkeeper of the Assembly, who gave it to 
a page to deliver. 

When he came back, nodded, and paid a boy for 
having held the horses, Hulda felt as if she had signed 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


335 


her own death warrant. She had ended her life of 
ease and pleasure with Mrs. Markham, and given her 
beloved second mother to another. As for staying a 
moment in her beautiful home with La Grange in 
such intimate relations, she had but one thought, 
and that not to attempt it. Her painful secret would 
become too evident. For when she saw him stand¬ 
ing with such fine presence in the Assembly room, 
she knew that she loved him, and more than ever 
before. Then she thought bitterly of the last days 
at Hardup, and the wicked slander thac had separated 
memory and happiness forever from her life. 

Donovan had driven her to a vine-covered brick 
house far out on O. Street, where she made a brief 
formal call in the name of Mrs. Markham. 

When she came out again in the sunlight, she felt 
that in another day she would no longer be the rich 
Mrs. Markham’s ward and favorite, but simple Hulda 
Hardy, a country school-teacher. Then she thought 
at once vividly of those two who had been so loyally 
true to her in that sad hour, when even her illiterate 
school trustees lost faith in her—simple, honest- 
hearted Buck and Millie. She felt as if she wanted 
to see the true faces of Buck and Millie, if only for 
a few minutes, for the courage it would give her. 

She told Donovan to drive her to the little home 
on 5th and Q. Streets, where she found poor Millie 
weeping, and Buck trying to comfort her in his rude 
way. Their trouble was real, and Hulda reproved- 
herself for her weak and foolish heart. 

Poor little Willie was to have a surgical operation 


336 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


the next day, and Millie had already lost her nerve 
and declared she could not endure it. 

“Now, Millie,” pleaded her young husband, “’tain’t 
no use to act that way. We’ve got to help the doc¬ 
tor. We ha’n’t got no money to hire a nurse. Then 
he’ll have the chloroform, and won’t feel nothing.” 

Then Millie shuddered again, and wept afresh. Mil¬ 
lie had lost flesh, and was pale and sick—worn out 
with care. 

Hulda went directly to her and put her soothing 
hand on her shoulder, the furred cloak falling against 
the solid calico dress. 

“Now, Millie, don’t worry any more. I’ll come 
and be the nurse. Don’t you think I’d make a good 
nurse, Buck?” 

“Blame me, if you wouldn’t,” cried Buck, “but 
you ain’t no business staying down here when you 
belong at that fine Markham house.” 

Then Hulda stood up with firm dignity, and her 
voice had a ring of her old authority in the teaching 
days. 

“No, Buck, you are wrong. I have business and 
a right to stay anywhere I please. I am going to 
stay wherever I can do good. Don’t you remember 
how good you and Millie were to me when the trus¬ 
tees discharged me? Do you think I don’t remem¬ 
ber it? Indeed Millie, I will stay right here and help 
you. I’ll be head nurse to-morrow.” 

• “Yes,” said Buck, with emotion in his voice, “don’t 
Millie and me know how good you was to us once, 
when you rode over the mountain to catch us and 


THE ASSEMBLY ROOM 


337 


get us married all straight? You don’t suppose we 
forgot that, do you?” 

“Oh, Buck, don’t, don’t.” Hulda threw up her 
hands, and in a moment she lay prone on the old 
kitchen lounge, sobbing hysterically. 

“The Lord help us!” cried Buck, walking out of 
the room. Then Millie went to her babies, and when 
she returned Hulda sat up and took her hands. 

“It was calling up the old days. I was so happy, 
you know, before mother died.” 

“Yes, I know,” said Millie simply, “before they 
talked about you.” 

“But it’s been good for me Millie to cry a little 
here with you. We won’t talk about old days any 
more. Now I’m going to come here and help you, 
and I’ll be here late to-night or early in the morning. 
Don’t say no, Millie.” 

Millie could not say no. She was more than wil¬ 
ling. 

“I’ll fix up the boarder’s room for you,” she said, 
“and he’ll sleep in some other house. He’d do most 
anything. He’s the most obliging’man I ever saw.” 

Hulda smiled. Millie had a simple way of making 
people like to help her. She was so guileless. 

Buck was restored to his equanimity, by coming 
in, to see the two women bending over the patient 
little sufferer. His crib was piled full of toys, and 
his bright black eyes were fastened on a bunch of 
red toy-balloons that floated over his head. 

“It does beat all,” said Millie. “That boarder 
brings a new toy for Willie every day. Ain t it 

David of Tuniper Gulch 22 


33 § 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


queer? He don’t listen to us at all, but every day he 
comes in with a new woolly lamb, or doll, or some¬ 
thing. And he looks so sad and dull, too, except 
when he’s giving a toy to Willie.” 

Then Hulda hurried away. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE PICTURE AGAIN. 

Hulda was back home in time to give Mrs. Mark¬ 
ham the usual attention before dinner. She robed 
her in her softest black silk with a bit of rich lace 
wherever she could add it. She brushed her hair 
into many soft silvery puffs, and crowded on dia¬ 
monds till the jewelry case was about empty. 

“Oh, Dacie,” protested the patient subject, “don’t 
put that diamond dart into my hair.” 

“Yes, I will,” Hulda cried gayly. “Trust me now. 
I am making a real art-study of this. You are going 
to look just right, never fear.” 

“Yes, but when are you going to dress? It’s din¬ 
ner time now.” 

“After dinner will do for me, Auntie.” 

They were still at the table, when the bell rang 
twice, as if pulled with a nervous violence. 

Hulda started with a little loss of self-control, and 
all the color faded from her face. 

“Dacie, are you ill?” exclaimed Mrs. Markham. 

The girl clasped her cold hands together under the 
table, and looked pleadingly at her companion. 

“I believe I do feel a little indisposed, Auntie. 
Would you excuse me from appearing to-night ?” 

339 


34 ° 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Satsunja brought in a card, and Mrs. Markham 
passed it over to her with a pretty smile. There was 
written on it in the handwriting the girl knew so well. 

“Edward La Grange. To see Mrs. Markham.” 

“To tell you the truth, Auntie,” she said, calling 
up all her self reliance and composure, “there is no 
one coming but Mr. La Grange. He is very much 
flattered by your notice of him, and you can see him 
alone just as well. I do feel badly, and if you can 
excuse me I will be glad.” 

“But he is a perfect stranger to me.” 

If Mrs. Markham thought her ward had been doing 
some singular planning, she thought it no time to re¬ 
prove her. 

“No matter, Auntie, you will like him at once.” 

Hulda came around to her and encircled her neck 
with her arms. “And what if he should prove to be 
our long lost boy?” Hulda disappeared while the 
startled woman was struggling to her feet, and the 
trembling girl found her way groping as one blind up 
the back stairs to her room. 

She sat down on her bed and pressed her beating 
heart with her hands. She had already partly formed 
a plan of conduct, if it should be that La Grange had 
a better right there than herself. She would leave 
the house that night and make Millie’s sick child an 
excuse for a long absence. By that time she could 
decide what to do, and she thought of David as her 
friend and helper. It took but a few moments to go 
about her room and make a small package of a plain 
dress and a few toilet articles. She grew calm and 


THE PICTURE AGAIN 


34 1 


stronger making these simple preparations. After a 
time she went out into the upper hall and listened. 
The house was so oppressively still. She crouched 
down at the head of the stairs. 

“Satsuma.” 

Satsuma came gliding softly out of the back hall 
below. 

“Come up here, Satsuma.” Satsuma came, soft- 
footed. 

“Satsuma, where’s Mrs. Markham?” 

“She—the front parlor.” 

“And the gentleman, too?” 

“Yes, Miss Hardy.” 

“Is the fire all right there?” 

“I know not. The door is shut.” 

“But you must attend to it, Satsuma. Go and 
knock at the door and tell her you must fix the fire.” 

Satsuma did exactly as he was told. The fire did 
evidently need fixing, for he came out for fuel, and 
after having gone in again, repaired to his post in the 
lower hall. 

“Satsuma.” Satsuma came again. 

“Satsuma, what are they doing in the parlor?” 

Satsuma knew his place; he hesitated, but the 
girl was imperative. 

“Tell me.” 

“Oh, Miss Hardy, they cry.” 

“Both cry?” 

“I think both cry.” 

“What else?” 

“She like the young man. She hold he hand. He 
put his arm around her. She is very nice lady.” 


342 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Indeed she is, Satsuma. That young man is her 
son. Now go down and watch the fire, for he may 
stay a long time, and she will forget it.” 

As she crossed the threshold of her room a startling 
remembrance crossed her mind. 

The picture—he must not see it—he would recog¬ 
nize the scene at once. Then the thought of the im¬ 
modesty of having done it at all, almost overpowered 
her. 

Satsuma slept at his post in the lower hall. It 
was late, and he studied a great deal between his 
duties. He wanted to learn the English so well; 
faithful, studious Satsuma! He had to wait till all 
had retired, to close the house for the night, arid so 
he slept before his little table in the hall. He was 
roused by the sweet voice of his mistress, who stood 
under the bright light by the parlor door, leaning in 
the encicrling arm of the young Assemblyman, with 
the brightest, happiest look on her face, that it had 
known since the crown of hair had silvered above it. 

“Satsuma.” 

“I am here.” 

“Go up stairs, Satsuma, and bring down that pict¬ 
ure in the hall with the Japanese silk draped in front 
of it. You can take it right out of the frame, Sat¬ 
suma.” 

She turned her bright eyes up to the face above 
her. 

“About this remarkable picture, Edward, I want 
to tell you. While I was in Boston I had my ward 
paint a picture that should be especially for me. I 


THE PICTURE AGAIN 


343 


was so unhappy at that time. I was thinking every 
day of your father and you, and the young girl re¬ 
produced my thoughts in the picture. A figure in 
the picture bears such a close resemblance to your 
father and you. It was a clear case of mind influ¬ 
ence. My thought was transmitted to her.” 

Satsuma came softly down the stairs. 

“There is no picture at all. It is not there.” 

“Oh, dear, Dacie has it. Go knock at her door.” 

Again he came down. 

“She sleep—She does not wake.” 

“Wait, Edward, I will go up and get it.” 

Mrs. Markham, with Satsuma’s lamp in her hand, 
opened the door of her “ward’s” room. She remem¬ 
bered that Dacie had not seemed well. But the bed 
was undisturbed, and an open bit of writing was 
pinned to the yellow plush cover on the light stand. 

“Dear Auntie:—I have heard that a friend’s child 
is very ill, and I feel that I ought to go. You will 
spare me, won’t you, fora few days. You have your 
son now, and you can well spare me. I am so glad 
for you. I had heard La Grange’s history, and I 
almost knew it was so when you told me. I tried to 
manage it for the best for you. 

“Loving and gratefully, 

“Dacie.” 

Mrs. Markham read it wonderingly, but so great 
had been the excitement of the evening, and so en¬ 
grossed was she in her new joy, that the impression 
it made was very slight. She was willing to spare 


344 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


her, or any one else—her only thought was her son 
—her first born, long lost son. 

But that she did not find the picture in that room 
or the studio, surprised and distressed her She was 
disappointed and disturbed, as she came down stairs. 

“Satsuma, I shall think that picture has been stolen. 
Look everywhere in the house for it. And, Satsuma, 
see that the blue room is ready. This gentleman will 
stay here to-night.” 

Whatever La Grange thought of the picture and 
its story, he said little in regard to it. He, too, was 
entirely controlled by the joy of the present moment, 
and the meaning to him of the happy discovery. He 
had found himself at his wit’s end from the first to 
explain to his “beautiful mother,” as he called her 
the first few days, how it was that he had not found 
her before. He had to go over the explanation many 
times. He had known nothing about his orphanage 
till he was eight or nine years old, when his natural 
gift of observation made known to him, that he was 
not the son of La Grange. Then he had been 
brought up to rock the cradle for his foster mother, 
and to have a feeling of brotherhood and obligation 
towards the children. When Mr. La Grange died 
he had to take the place of the father of the family. 
Just before Mr. La Grange died, he had told him 
that his own father and mother had died on the 
Isthmus, and implored him to be a brother to the 
helpless little ones. Then his foster mother had 
shown and given him what was left of the little 
clothes he had been dressed in when he was brought 


THE PICTURE AGAIN 


345 


from Panama, and which the elder La Grange had 
put by when he had been able to procure others—not 
with any definite purpose, but as objects of curiosity. 
La Grange had rolled them up and kept them, stow¬ 
ing them away in the bottom of his trunk, when he 
no longer lived at the mountain home. His duty to 
the family, and his own ambition, were then the 
leading impulses of his life, and he had thought of 
nothing to search for except the identification of his 
name and relationship. But this he intended to do 
some time, when possessed of means and leisure. 

Convinced of all this, Mrs. Markham then asked 
the great question that had lain so heavily on her 
heart 

“Could I have found you, if I had searched more 
and gone farther?” 

“No, no, mother, you would not have found me. 
Mr. La Grange was mining in a deep canon far from 
any stage station. When he married he took up a 
little place fifteen miles from Forest Grove, and there 
we were six miles from any town. There I was 
brought up to almost live in the wo5ds on my pony, 
looking after our sheep and hogs. We had a garden 
and started an orchard, and Mr. La Grange worked 
in the mines.” 

“My poor boy,” sighed the mother. 

La Grange laughed heartily, and set his head in 
his own proud fashion. 

“Why, no, mother, that was good for me. I was 
tough as a little Indian, and when I learned to read, 
the people used to lend me all the books they had. 


346 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


There were many well educated Eastern people 
stowed away in those mountains, in those days, and, 
mother, to tell the truth, my social influences were 
better than they are now in the legislature of our 
State.” 

Then they were very merry together over his in¬ 
dependent criticism. 

La Grange had thought it best, and so had she, 
upon reflection, that he should not change his name 
till after the close of the legislative session; and that 
they would let the fact of his relationship to her come 
out only gradually through her most intimate friends. 

But she refused to be parted from him for a mo¬ 
ment. The day after the discovery, she had had him 
remove, with all his papers, effects and belongings, 
to the handsome blue room, and get a secretary to do 
his writing; and what with his coming and going, 
and the clerks with special business, Satsuma was 
kept awake day and night. And the horses were in 
the carriage every day, standing in front of the old 
mansion, or going to and from the Capitol Building. 

Mrs. Markham found the Assembly Chamber a de¬ 
lightful spot. Her chair beneath a window on the 
right was soft spacious and comfortable, and she 
ignored all that was unpleasant in the people she 
met or the controversial aspect of the legislature. 
She sat absorbed in happiness, her eyes and ears on 
the figure and words of her new found son, whose 
abilities and fine personal qualities were winning him 
many disinterested friends and admirers. 

One day just before the dinner hour at the home, 


THE PICTURE AGAIN 


347 


Mrs. Markham received a note from Hulda, begging 
for a longer absence, and asking for some clothing 
from her bureau, to be sent by the bearer, a plain 
elderly looking man, Millie’s boarder, and it was not 
until after he had gone that Mrs. Markham noticed 
that the address was not on the note. 

“Dear me,” she said, standing in the library bay 
window, “Dacie’s absence at any other time would 
have been unendurable. I would have inquired into it 
and brought her home, but now I can think of no one 
but you, Edward.” 

“But you ought to know where she is,” he said 
gravely. 

“Oh, I can trust her,” she said, “she’s all right. 
She will be home in a few days.” 

“My mother,” he said thoughtfully, and with a 
manner of doing a disagreeable duty, “did you ever 
investigate that strange gossip that went around 
about her about the time her mother died?” 

“What? That''a stray child was hers? Oh, yes, 

I talked with Mrs. Cornman about it, but I don’t be¬ 
lieve a word of it.” 

“But I understand that she has acknowledged*it.” 

“Why, when?” 

“When Prof. Cornman was down he told me that 
she acknowledged it to his wife here at your house.” 

“Edward, it can’t be so.” 

“I am surprised, but so he said.” 

She was silent and she bent her white face over 
her cold clasped hands. 

# “You are shivering, mother,” he said tenderly. “I 
am sorry I told you.” 


348 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Oh, Edward,” she wept, leaning on his warm 
arm, “I will never be disappointed in you. Your 
father was a true and good man if there ever was 
one.” 

“I shall try to be like him, my precious mother.” 

Her head lay on his shoulder and then both were 
silent. 

“Meanwhile,” she said later, “don’t let us speak of 
Dacieat all. She brought you to me, God bless her! 
When she comes home I will make her tell me all 
about it, and then I can judge.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFESSIONAL STATEMENT. 

That same night Huldasat alone by the crib of the 
little sufferer. She had insisted upon doing all the night 
watching. Millie was already worn out, and Buck 
could not handle the child, as she could. Only a wo¬ 
man’s gentle hand could turn the boy when he awoke 
from his fitful slumber. He was not doing as well 
as the surgeon had hoped he would. But this night 
he was resting well, and Hulda’s thoughts, if not her 
attention, were turned back to herself. In the two 
weeks of labor and care for her friends she had had a 
constant struggle to control her own thoughts, and 
she had grown thinner, and her face was almost as 
pale as the child’s white brow. She lay back in the 
large old fashioned rocker, that Millie’s boarder had 
purchased at some second hand store, and pressed 
upon their acceptance; her hands were clasped rigidly 
upon her lap, and her large eyes stared at the ceiling. 

The change in her life had filled her with a new 
hopelessness. Even Millie with her sick child had 
more happiness than she. There was nothing now 
to do, but to go away from every one who had ever 
known her, and to leave them all, with the joys she 
had been the instrument of bringing them. Cis, 
349 


350 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


with her good husband; La Grange, with his mother. 
She thought of Boston. Alfred Hoffner could and 
would help her to get pupils in painting. It was 
easier to dwell upon what she could do than to think 
of leaving all and everything; for she loved them all, 
her friends, her social advantages, everything. 

She was embittered, rebellious, unresigned. Why 
had her life been such a failure? It had been one 
long series of blunders and mistakes. She had made 
a mistake in going, an ignorant, unsophisticated girl, 
to San Francisco, alone on the advice of a good 
clergyman, who knew no more about the wickedness 
of the world than a child. She had blundered in be¬ 
ing willing to help Cis, by bringing home her infant 
without knowing anything about the circumstances. 
She had blundered in not telling her mother of Mr. 
Cornman’s first wooing. He had only become her 
enemy by being tempted to a second proposal. She 
had made a mistake when she had given up her 
chance at Forest Grove, before asking La Grange to 
explain. Had she been more cautious she would have 
remained at Forest Grove, and La Grange might 
have been her friend when her trouble came. They 
might have learned to understand each other better. 
She had done wrong in not discerning that David 
might marry Cis, if he did not know the truth. 

Millie had told her how the evil talk had been re¬ 
vived by David’s marriage, and her visit at that time. 

Then she had erred by painting that picture in the 
east. She would have to steal it yet from its hiding 
place and burn it. And she had done wrong, when 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFESSIONAL STATEMENT 351 

she had exclaimed to Mrs. Cornman, in a petulant 
passion, that the child was hers. It was unwise to 
be angry after so long, over the curiosity which was 
but natural. She had accused La Grange of dis¬ 
honor, and been unwilling to trust him for the future; 
she had cast him off for one fault, and because he 
had wondered and inquired, with all the county tes¬ 
tifying against her, she had been angry and cast away 
the jewel of her own integrity. Mrs. Cornman would 
not believe her now, should she deny it. 

Errors, blunders, calamity, and through it all she 
had been true to her friends, a pure, loving woman, 
and she was glad of that. She knelt by the crib to 
put her fingers on the little wrist to note the pulse. 
She had a heart to pity the suffering yet, a heart to 
love and help. A heart yet too proud to be selfish, 
too noble to betray. She was glad of that. She 
noted that the child’s pulse was stronger than it had 
been, and she arose with a feeling of relief. It meant 
that she could be getting ready to go away to her 
mother’s grave, and then, Boston. She walked to 
the window noiselessly and looked out. A mass of 
scudding clouds had just passed over, and the moon 
round and bright overhead, came out in all its splen¬ 
dor. She was looking towards the east across some 
vacant lots. The great dome of the Capitol building 
shone out white and still in the moonlight. 

To leave everything! She clasped her hands to 
her beating temples. It was another rush of bitter 
memories. La Grange whom she helped to nobler 
principles, whom she gave to his mother, who was 


352 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


steadily climbing to his high destiny, ar\d whom she 
still loved in memory, yet hated in her prouder, 
stronger moments. She sank on her knees and re¬ 
lieved her heart and her head in her first burst of 
tears. 

When daylight came, the old man, Millie’s boarder, 
came in and begged to be allowed to watch till the 
mother came out, and Hulda, (it was the first morn¬ 
ing she had felt drowsy and sleepy), crept away to 
bed. 

At noon she heard Dr. Welcome’s cheery voice in 
the hall and she came out to get his verdict. Little 
Willie was better, decidedly so. His system was 
rallying. 

“And, Miss Hardy,” continued Dr. Welcome, “I 
have a message for you. I have a new patient, two 
new patients, in fact. They were sending a messen¬ 
ger all over town last night for a girl named Hulda. 
When I happened to hear it was Miss Hardy they were 
hunting for, I knew just exactly where you were and 
what you were doing. I promised to send you up 
after your morning nap. A friend of yours, a pretty 
little Mrs. Strong, has a baby boy, and she asked for 
you a dozen times through the night. You’d better 
go up, Miss Hardy. Willie is much better, and you 
need a change. Tell them I will be there this after¬ 
noon but I may be late. Good day Miss Hardy. 
Cheer up little mother, Willie’s coming on.” And the 
good doctor hurried away. 

When Hulda had donned the street dress she had 
worn there the fur-trimmed cloak and richly plumed 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFESSIONAL STATEMENT 353 

hat she looked again like the elegant young woman 
who had visited the Assembly Chamber with Mrs. 
Markham except for the paleness of her face and the 
nervous watchful glance she lifted to every passer-by. 
She was not used to walking alone in that part of town 
—for many reasons she did not wish to meet ac¬ 
quaintances. The rain had begun to fall mistily and 
the grassy paths of the lower streets were wet and 
dank. She crossed the business streets with a more 
rapid step, and up Sixth street past the great brick 
church; there she had met many of the brightest peo¬ 
ple of the town; then a block east to pass the old 
brick, High-school building, where she had danced 
with far better grace, both mentally and physcially 
than on the pine platform at Oak Flat, that dear old 
picnic day; and down by the high, whitewashed Con¬ 
vent wall, where she had walked in the grassy shade 
so many summer days, crowding the last pages of her 
text books into her mind; then a few more blocks of 
neat cottages and green gardens, in the soft rain, and 
she came to the small house set close to the street, 
where the Strongs were living. 

David opened the door ere she had closed the gate. 

“I am looking for Dr. Welcome,” he said, coming 
out with a troubled, haggard face. “Hulda, she’s 
gone clear out of her head since the doctor left this 
morning. She must be very sick.” 

He had closed the door behind him, and stood to 
prevent her from entering while he unburdened his 
trouble to her. 

“What does it mean, Hulda? She doesn’t know 

J5avid of Juniper Gulch 23 


354 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


anything. She keeps asking for people I never heard 
of. Who is Max? And who is Mrs. Ellis? and she 
says that she is alone in the town, and that we don’t 
take care of her.” 

Hulda leaned against the wall and was speechless 
for a moment. Then she slowly drew off her damp 
gloves. 

“Don’t fret, David,” she pleaded, “it’s nothing. 
She’s only out of her mind. Who is with her?” 

“She’s got a German woman for a nurse, but I 
can’t understand a word she says. I was afraid to 
leave to go for the doctor till you came. Oh, Hulda, 
won’t you stay? Can’t you stay with us?” 

“Why, certainly, Dave. Of course. Now get your 
hat, and hurry.” 

Hulda went in quietly, removed her wraps in the 
stiff little parlor, found the sick-room, bent over the 
woman for whom her life had been a sacrifice, and 
with the first touch of her soft fingers, Cis turned her 
shining eyes to her, seemed for an instant to know 
her, and grew more calm. The nurse nodded with a 
smile of satisfaction. The girl had meant more than 
her simple words “Certainly, Dave,” had implied. 
Her meaning lay in her heart, and was the same self- 
sacrificing pity for an unfortunate, and the same res¬ 
olution to keep her vow to her dying mother that had 
held her to her course all these years. She went to 
the sick bed to stay there as the interpreter of the un¬ 
fortunate woman, who had lost control of her mind. 

The nurse was efficient, faithful, strong and willing, 
and the girl knew nothing about the scientific care 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFESSIONAL STATEMENT 355 

that must be given, but her power was manifest when 
she took the tossing hands in hers, and hushed the 
pitiful ravings with her low calm words. 

Dr. Welcome came in, lost his cheery manners, 
and went away without a word. He came back with his 
counsel, and Hulda waited with David on the narrow 
porch, the mist of the rain blowing in their faces, 
while the consultation was held. She had never seen 
David look so. His eyes had lost their steady, calm 
look, his mouth was working nervously; he thrust his 
hands in his pockets, and leaned against the wall, 
partly turned away from her. Hulda was painfully 
distressed by his exhibition of anxiety, but she felt 
almost afraid to speak to him. 

“Please don’t, Dave,” she said gently, but he gave 
no heed. 

Dr. Welcome came out with his counsel, hurrying 
away. 

“Well, my good man,” he said patronizingly, “don’t 
worry. I think she’ll come out all right.” Hulda 
hurried back. 

“Oh, is that you, Mrs. Ellis?” said Cis looking up 
wildly. “Tell Max to come and marry me now, for 
baby’s sake, won’t you?” 

“Darling, of course I will,” murmured Hulda with 
broken voice and fall of tears. “Now lie quiet, dear.” 
David soon found that his presence in the sick-room 
was regarded as a sort of innovation. Either the 
nurse or Hulda met him with a frown, if he crossed 
the threshold. But no one objected, when he stood 
with wrapt admiration over his boy, who had a crib 


35 6 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


to himself by the fire in the sitting-room, and who, 
from the first, showed perfect satisfaction with his 
fate in life, and systematically divided his time be¬ 
tween his bottle and his sleep. 

David could amuse quiet little Nonie, and walk 
the block watching for the doctor; that was about 
all he could do, and Hulda noticed each day a new 
line of care on his face. 

But the strain was relaxed sooner than they all ex¬ 
pected. It was less than a week when Cis opened 
her eyes one night and smiled upon Hulda with her 
old sweet expression. Later she awoke and said: 

“Can’t Dave come and sit with me some? You look 
so tired, Hulda.” After another hour Hulda called 
David. She knew that the delirium was over. Her 
vigil had ended. • 

She went into the little extra bedroom, removed 
her dress for the first time and laid her aching head 
on the cold pillow. 

At five o’clock in the afternoon she was still sleep¬ 
ing the sleep of exhaustion, and Dr. Welcome sent 
the nurse to arouse her. Then the days went on 
very well. Cis was cheery and happy; David found 
that his home was his own again, and was, and 
seemed, more like himself. Hulda stayed. Cis clung 
to her in love and gratitude, and the girl in the kitchen 
needed her supervision to secure the comfort of the 
household. 

The first day that she felt that she could be spared, 
she walked down to see that Millie was getting on 
very well, and that Willie was improving rapidly, 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFfcSSIONAL STATEMENT 357 

Manifestly she did not wish to stay there, except in 
case of absolute necessity, and she knew that David 
was able and willing to give her a home. 

One day at David’s she glanced from the window 
and saw the Markham carriage drive up, and Mrs. 
Markham was in it alone. Hulda ran out. She did 
not want Mrs. Markham brought into that cold little 
parlor. She sprang into the carriage, wound her 
arms around her friend, and kissed her brow. 

“I had Donovan hunt you up,’’said Mrs. Markham. 
“You look utterly worn out, and I think this is too 
bad. You are making a martyr of yourself. What 
do you do it for?” 

I feel that my friends have claims on me,” said the 
girl. “Besides you could well spare me.” 

Mrs. Markham caught the girl’s hands in ecstasy. 

“Oh, Dacie,” she cried, “if you only could imagine 
how happy I am. My son is the noblest and best 
young man I ever knew. I am with him every mo¬ 
ment, but it was to be so noisy in the legislature this 
morning, he wouldn’t let me go. When the extra 
session is over we are going to San Jose to see Ar¬ 
chie, then up to Rocky Divide to see his old home; 
then we may go East.” Hulda divined with every 
sentence that she was left entirely out of their calcu¬ 
lations. 

“And,” continued Mrs. Markham, “I have not for¬ 
gotten that you brought him to me. I am going to 
make it right with you. I am thinking of a gift of 
five thousand, and with your cottage—” 

Hulda drew away her hands, her eyes flashing. 

T 


358 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

‘‘Which I shall not accept. I want nothing.” 

“Oh, but Dacie, let me talk”— 

“No, no—” She loved her old friend; besides she 
was his mother. She wound her arm around her and 
kissed her white brow and the silvery waves of hair, 
then stepped from the carriage. She motioned to 
Donovan, and Mrs. Markham, with a surprised, grieved 
expression on her face, was driven away. 

Hulda stumbled up the steps. “I believe I am 
very weak,” she thought, “and this is the last—they 
have done with me.” She found the door-knob at 
last. 

David fond her leaning helplessly against the wall, 
and with a moan she staggered into his arms. The 
^food German nurse put the girl to bed. 

“I have her sleep,” she said to David. “I think one 
week she not sleep anything.” 

Cicelia Strong now improved rapidly. David 
wanted to go to Hardup, and the Junpier mine, for 
business that could not be postponed, and he seemed 
to think it a happy incident that Hulda was there to 
be in the household while he was away. So David 
kissed his gentle wife and was gone, and Hulda 
bought an armful of quiet story books and read them 
to Cis. This was not making a good beginning in 
the economy she must practice, but amusement then 
for both was of paramount importance. 

The evening David returned his wife met him at 
the door, and Hulda, in her little room, knew that 
their happiness was complete, and that her work was 
done. She,jbent her head in her hands and tried to 


dr. welcome makes a professional statement 359 

frame the letter she should write to Alfred Hoffner. 
He had wanted her to remain as his assistant, but it 
was an effort to think, so she went out to hear David 
and his wife talk of Hardup. His first news was for 
her. The cottage was vacant. The Cornmans had 
moved to Forest Grove. David was not favorable 
to the idea she proposed, that of selling it. He 
might live in it himself and rent the old Beverly 
place. He wanted to see Hulda clear the pines away 
and set out more fruit trees. 

Later Dr. Welcome came. It was his last call, 
and made, so Hulda thought, to leave his bill. Dr. 
Welcome had shown a disposition to ask her personal 
questions, so she withdrew to her little room so near 
the sidewalk, and sat down by the open window to 
listen to the strumming of a guitar across the street. 
Dr. Welcome and David came out and stood at the 
gate. Suddenly the guitar stopped and the voice of 
the doctor came clearly to her ear. 

“I know,” Dr. Welcome was saying, “I know the 
bill is large, but I paid my counsel twenty dollars, 
and it was an unusual case. lean tell you just why. 
The woman evidently had no care with her first child, 
either an ignorant doctor, or criminal neglect, sir. I 
make that as a professional statement, sir, and you 
can put the blame where it belongs, probably.” 

“Then you took that little girl for hers,” said David. 

“Oh, I didn’t take any one for hers,” said the doc¬ 
tor. “My professional knowledge showed me that 
she had had a child previously. That was all. Well, 
goodnight, Mr. Strong. Your wife will soon be as 
well as ever. Good-night.” 


360 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCti 


David, leaning against the gatepost, did not move. 
Hulda sat rigid with horror, till a sudden movement 
of David’s aroused her. 

“By Heavens! I shall know the truth,” he said, 
starting up the steps. But Hulda was first, and 
stood before him. 

“Dave, don’t go in now, I want to speak to you. 
Come out on the street.” She took his arm and 
dragged him down the steps, and out onto the side¬ 
walk. 

She walked on and David came willingly, but he 
did not speak. Hulda afterwards remembered that 
she had an inward feeling of condemnation or reproof, 
for her steps seemed light, and she seemed to be 
walking on air; but yet on her brain beat over and 
over those dying words of her sainted mother, “Be 
true, protect.” 

When at last David stopped, they were under the 
high, white-washed Convent wall, the street solitary 
in front, and the bare branches of the trees hanging 
over them. 

David leaned heavily against the wall, and pulled 
his hat over his eyes. 

“You are right, Hulda,” he said, “I shouldn’t go 
in angry.” 

“David,” she pleaded, “don’t ever be angry. Let 
it stop right here.” He looked up at her. 

“Hulda, you know all about this. Did you come 
out here to tell me? There is no use now, it’s all 
got to come out.” 

“Poor Cis, don’t harm her, David. She was not 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFESSIONAL STATEMENT 361 

to blame,” she still pleaded. David’s voice was calm 
and he stood up squarely. 

“I understand that, Hulda. She is my wife and 
true and loving. I can’t remember the time when I 
didn’t love her, and now she’s the mother of my boy; 
but Hulda, it’s no use, this all came out when the 
fever came. I understood it all in a flash, when she 
begged me to go and get Max to marry her for baby’s 
sake. I remembered how you went to the city and 
brought home a cousin’s baby. I remembered how you 
stuck to it, and all. Oh, I have been fighting this thing 
out all alone. It’s been a hard fight, but I’ve come 
out clear. It wasn’t business up to Hardup, it was 
a fight with my conscience. Hulda, poor girl, every 
body up there thinks Nonie is your child. Now this 
thing has got to be righted. I don’t mean to harm 
Cis, she’s my wife, but the truth must come out. 
Enough harm has been done. You needn’t think it 
isn’t hard for me, it’s like death, but I’m not going 
to live a lie, or see you and Cis do it either.” 

“Oh, David, my brother,” murmured the girl. He 
put his arm around her and drew her against his 
warm shoulder. 

“Now, this is what I am going to say, Hulda. I 
want to know the truth of this, and all of it, not one 
word shall be held back. Cis must out with the 
truth, and go back to Hardup and clear you, and live 
it down. If she refuses, she can have the Beverly 
farm and Nonie, but my boy and I go, and a long 
way, too.” 

“Oh, Dave, you will kill her.” 


362 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Well, I guess not. Didn’t she bear it in the first 
place? And isn’t it harder to carry the secret in her 
heart than to tell the truth ? I know she was an ig¬ 
norant, wronged girl. But your help, whatever it 
was, saved her, and got her a husband. I’ll be good 
to her, don’t fear. Now, Hulda, I want to hear all 
you know about it.” 

She shivered and sighed. 

“Oh, I know you’re cold,” he said, “but I want to 
hear your story first. We will go to the house and 
get your wrap and my overcoat and hat. I will tell 
Cis I have met a friend. I want to hear this thing 
though now. Understand, if you don’t tell me, it 
will be the worse for Cis and you too.” 

A little later they were walking back and forth un¬ 
der the Convent wall, and David wrung from her the 
whole miserable story, even Cis Beverly’s confession 
to her. David’s mind took it all in with a clear 
grasp. 

“And that black villain, where is he now?” 

“Don’t make a scandal, Dave, and get us all into 
trouble,” she pleaded. 

“Oh, no, I can do better than that, if he’s got any 
money.” 

And then she told him. 

“In the Legislature! The devil take him. Ah, ha!” 

David walked on whistling. Later he said. 

“Hulda, you have done right all through. You 
couldn’t do any different after the stand your mother 
took. But now it’s my affair, not yours. Now I’m 
going home.” 


DR. WELCOME MAKES A PROFESSIONAL STATEMENT 363 

He turned down towards the business streets, not 
towards home. 

“Hulda, I’m going to put you in a hack and send 
you down to Buck’s to-night. Will you go? I want 
to settle this affair with Cis. I love her, and she 
loves me, thank God. I want to be alone with her 
to-night.” 

“Oh, David, be kind.” Hulda, hanging heavily on 
his arm, was weeping quietly. 

David found a hackman he knew, put the trem¬ 
bling girl in the carriage, and hurried home. There he 
took his pale wife in his arms, kissed her many times 
on cheek and brow, and told her that he loved her 
before all the world, and that he would protect and 
cherish her forever. Then he told her gently and 
lovingly, what he had come to know through her 
fever and through Dr. Welcome. 

There was only one thing poor Cis, with her short 
mental vision, had ever feared,that was, that she might 
lose David. Now she knew, that whatever happened, 
she would not lose him, and when she had agreed to 
do everything that David demanded, she begged to 
be put to bed, and she slept the untroubled sleep of 
a wearied child. 

When Hulda came in the morning Cis was quite 
calm. She caught her hand and drew her down to 
the lounge where she was lying in her room. 

“Hulda,” she said, “I never knew a word what 
people said about you till last night when David told 
me. f didn’t know that your reputation suffered. 
Qh, I am so sorry, Hulda. But what you did saved 


364 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


me, Hulda, if you hadn’t protected me when I came 
back to Hardup, I would have been lost. Oh, wasn’t 
your mother good? Oh, I did love her Hulda, and 
that was what gave me a heart again.” 

“Oh, my mother.” And Hulda sobbed helplessly, 
till David’s boy roused them to active life, and its 
new responsibilities. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


DAVID’S LAWYER. 

Edward Markham or, Edward La Grange, as he 
still signed himself in his private and public cor¬ 
respondence, was as busy as he liked to be during the 
closing days of the Extra Session. For his mother’s 
sake, however, he was looking forward to the end, 
for she was so restive with the slightest separation. 
What with the attention he had to give her, and his 
duties beside, he seldom had a moment to himself. 

One such moment came to him, however, one even¬ 
ing, in the blue room of the Markham mansion. He 
had just sent away his clerk; his mother had retired 
early, and with a sigh of relief he snatched up his old 
volume of Shakespeare, threw himself back in his 
easy chair, and turned the pages from pencil mark 
to pencil mark. He was in a mood for his favorite 
passages only. He was just smiling over King Henry 
and Kate, when the bell rang, and steps began to 
climb the stairs. Satsuma pushed open the door. 

“All right, Satsuma, and don’t let any one else in 
to-night, please ” said the young Assemblyman, clos¬ 
ing his book. 

“Why, hello, Strong! This is a treat. I’m glad 
to see you. Come in, come in. Have a seat. 

365 


3 66 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


David gave him his hand gravely, and sat down. 

“I suppose this call is merely complimentary and 
social,” continued La Grange. “Why didn’t you 
come around before?” 

“No, you’re wrong,” answered David, tossing his 
hat into a corner. “It’s pure business.” 

“What. Somebody after the Juniper? We’ll see 
about that. I’m your man.” 

“No.” And David’s manner was so serious that La 
Grange rolled his easy chair away, moved an office 
chair to his desk, and sat down in an attentive posi¬ 
tion. 

“I’ve got a little case for you, if you’ll take it.” 

“All right, out with it.” 

“Well, it’s just about like this—” David hesitated, 
but the battle had been fought and he had won. 
“Suppose—suppose that a girl had been betrayed un¬ 
der promise of marriage, had a child and covered it 
up. Then after some years she concludes she wants 
satisfaction or damages for herself and child, what 
could she do?” 

La Grange ran his fingers through his hair, and 
looked thoughtful and distressed. 

“What are her proofs and witnesses? Are they 
good?” 

“First class, and the parties all here in Sacra¬ 
mento.” 

“Compromise, compromise, pay up,” said La 
Grange, nervously. 

“Yes, but how do you make 
David, earnestly. 


him do it?” asked 


david’s lawyer 367 

La Grange rose and paced the floor, his hands in 
his pockets. 

“I’ll tell you, Mr. Strong, why don’t you go to 
some older lawyer. I am hardly competent to con¬ 
duct a defense of that kind. I am sorry for you, but 
you’d better pay up with the first move.” 

David only turned around and faced him savagely. 

“There, you’re a fool. Do you think I’m on the 
defensive? Sit down here and talk. I want to 
prosecute.” 

The young man sat down and drummed on the 
table. 

“But why has this case, this prosecution, been 
postponed all'these years?” 

“Because the woman is just ready to confess, and 
I want support for the child.” 

“Oh, but as I said, some older lawyer—” 

“But we want you,” urged David, “we want you to 
know all about it, to help right the wrong. She wants 
you.” 

La Grange was again on his feet, with a flushed 
and almost angry face. 

“I’ll tell you, Strong, I don’t see how I can take 
the case. Why I had perfect confidence in that girl. 

I couldn’t believe it till I was forced to, here lately. 
The subject is horrible. Don’t force it upon me, 
Strong.” 

It was hard. David sat rigid, his hands clenched 
on the rounds of his chair. But the truth had to 
come. His voice was broken. 

“Do you know what woman I am talking about?” 


3 68 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“The widow Hardy’s daughter.” 

La Grange spoke with averted face and hesitating 
voice. 

“No, La Grange, it is my wife, the Beverly girl. 
The child was—hers.” 

La Grange sprang up, backed away from the table, 
and out of the glare of the light. He stood staring at 
David. David dropped his head on one hand, with 
face half averted, and went on: 

“Oh, I know all about it now. Hulda Hardy sac¬ 
rificed herself, but she was led into it little at a time, 
and couldn’t help it. Mrs. Hardy wanted to protect 
Cis Beverly, and when she died she made Hulda 
promise to do the same and she didn’t know what 
the consequences would be. Poor Hulda has been 
tormented to death. She told me about telling Mrs. 
Cornman, but she said Mrs. Cornman accused her, 
and bullied her into it. Well, what’s the matter of 
you?” 

La Grange had sunk into his chair with a sound 
like a moan. 

“Strong, shoot, and begin on me,” he muttered. 

“What have you done? How are you in it?” 

“In it?” he cried, looking up wildly. “Why I let 
that girl leave her school and her home without lift¬ 
ing a hand in her defence. When you married I saw 
her reputation blackened and kept still, when I ought 
to have known her heart was white as snow. I have 
even turned my mother against her, Strong. Kill me 
— me. ” 

David rose and came and put his hand firmly on 



“ He,,stood glaring at David.” 

\ 


ft 


David of Juniper Gulch 


















. 


















David’s lawyer 


3 6 9 


the bowed shoulder. “Why La Grange, I never 
knew there was anything between you two. You 
act as if you might have been in love with her. ” 

“I was, Dave, I was always, but it was a coward’s 
love. She was inclined to be punctilious, I rebelled. 
Then she cut me at her mother’s funeral, and because 
my feelings were hurt, I let that old Cornman shrug 
his shoulders and shut his mouth till I lost my head. 
And the proof was all against her. Strong, take me 
out on the street and beat me.” 

A bit of David’s old humor came to the relief of 
both. 

“I’ll tell you who’ll do it, if he ever finds it out, 
Hicks the stage driver. He’s never got his wrath 
boiled down yet. Cornman’s in for a good one. I’m 
going to set Hicks on him.” 

La Grange smiled. 

“La Grange, I just found all this out. I’ve been 
around the Assembly all day getting my points. Let 
me tell you the whole thing.” 

“Heavens! No! Not in this house, where I com¬ 
mitted the last and foulest crime against that suffer¬ 
ing girl. Come out on the street, Strong. I must 
have air, air—I am stifled.” 

The two men, brothers now in spirit, went down 
the stairs softly, and sat till near morning in a room 
in a J. Street Hotel. But David’s lawyer was firm 
on one point. He wanted to make all the plans him¬ 
self, and if a case at law was determined on, to have 
the privilege of conducting it in his own way, with 

David of Juniper Gulch 24 


370 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


the privilege of any kind of an alternative that would 

answer the purpose. 

It was only a coincidence, but it came providen¬ 
tially. 

The next morning when La Grange alighted from 
the carriage at the Capitol, with his mother, an elderly 
stranger approached him, lifting his hat respectfully. 
La Grange would have passed by, but his first words 
arrested him. 

“Mr. Dorms sent me, sir, I want a lawyer. I 
have a case.” 

“Can’t you wait a week? I am very busy,” he 
said kindly. 

“No, sir, my man will get away, as soon as you 
adjourn—it’s Assemblyman Royse, sir.” 

“Eh?” exclaimed the young lawyer. “Come to my 
house at seven to-night. Here’s the address. 

And Millie’s boarder took the card, bowed and 
turned away. 

La Grange, as miserable as he might feel, could do 
nothing but go on with his own work. He speedily 
informed his mother, however, the next morning, 
with appropriate personal apologies, of the mistake 
Mrs. and Mr. Cornman had made in regard to the 
young lady who had been her companion for so long. 
In the afternoon Mrs. Markham took the carriage 
and went to Strong’s house; Hulda ran out and 
kissed and embraced her warmly. Despite the great 
distance that would now separate them, she loved her. 

“Oh, come home, Dacie,” Mrs. Markham pleaded. 
“We’ll be such a happy family together. You’ll like 


DAVID'S LAWYER 


371 


Edward when you know him, and he can’t be with 
me all the time on account of his tedious cases. 1 
want somebody to talk to me about him when he is 
away. Do come home.” 

Hulda was so sorry, but poor little Willie was to 
have his final operation, and she had promised to be 
there. She would come after that. Hulda suc¬ 
ceeded in getting her to go away, believing that some 
time “her Dacie” might return. She knew no reason 
why she should not. 

But Hulda went to the Markham mansion when 
she knew there would be no one there but Satsuma, 
and brought away her paintbox and a few dresses. 
David had come with her without a word, when she 
had asked him to carry them for her. 

Her heart longed now for Hardup, and her own 
home, since David and Cis were to make things all 
right; and there she would go first—to see her trees 
all in blossom, and to visit her mother’s grave; to 
look all her childhood friends in the face, and feel 
that her name was unblemished—that was her first 
desire, her now eager hope. 

David had said no more about the doctor’s revela¬ 
tion. Whatever his pain was, he bore it alone, and 
studied in every way the happiness of his wife and 
Hulda. He said he was waiting for some business 
matters to be settled in Sacramento, before they could 
go to Hardup. But Hulda had determined not to go 
till Willie’s last peril was past. The doctor was sure 
another operation would complete the cure of the 
leg, and Hulda could not forsake Millie till it was all 


over. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


FESTIVITIES AT THE IMPERIAL. 

Meanwhile David and La Grange were alert, 
awake, active, and laying their plans deep and well. 
They knew every move and plan of the rather garru¬ 
lous Max Royse, Assemblyman. 

They knew, that a little occasion of festivity was 
being arranged, for an evening in the week before ad¬ 
journment; and La Grange had even been so agree¬ 
able to Mrs. Ellis in the lobby, that he felt sure of 
an invitation to the “quiet little affair.” 

He smiled grimly when he found it on his desk at 
the Assembly Chamber one morning, a dainty little 
favor in printed script with embossed doves “and the 
pleasure of his company,” to the wedding ceremony 
of Mrs. Minerva Ellis and Maxwell Royse, Assembly- 
man from San Francisco. 

“Doves, indeed!” he said sotto voce, contempt¬ 
uously. “But I think when I get through with them 
they will be pretty well plucked.” 

He concluded to go to that select wedding in the 
parlors of the Imperial Hotel, and part of his prepara¬ 
tion was to engage a small parlor in the same build¬ 
ing to use an hour or so on that happy occasion. 

Max Royse had decided to marry Mrs. Ellis, be- 
372 


FEST1VITIVES AT THE IMPERIAL 


373 


cause she had become so useful to him, that it seemed 
to be the best thing to do. As he rose in political 
influence he needed more and more a wife to preside 
over his hospitalities in just the right kind of style. 
He had given her a thorough test, and she was more 
than equal to the demands. And then, ever since 
his wife died, he had wanted to marry her, if her 
social position could be made to bear the strain. 
She had made a better impression on the carpets of 
the Capitol Building than he had. There was no 
use waiting. He would marry her then and there, 
and his San Francisco gang would have to approve a 
match that half the Assembly had congratulated him 
upon. 

The arrangements were without flaw, as an affair 
at the Legislature should be. There was to be a 
reception in the parlor, a minister from some little 
church around the corner, and later, a champagne 
supper in their private rooms, to the more select and 
especially favored of the guests. The quality of the 
champagne was to be a distinguishing feature of this 
latter entertainment, and gentlemen guests were to 
predominate. The lobby was to be well represented 
at the festivities. 

On the auspicious evening, all the preliminaries 
went well, with the exception of a little revolt on the 
part of Mrs. Ellis just before dinner, when the maids 
and workmen were already changing her parlor and 
bedroom into a banqueting room. It was the dia¬ 
monds Royse had brought up. They had agreed on 
far better stones, and Max was showing up a little of 


374 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


his old tricks in bringing what he did. They had 
agreed to be honest with each other. 

A compromise was affected after a subdued conflict 
of will power, and the maid employed for the occasion 
went to the dress-maker’s for the reception dress. It 
was a magnificent object laid out in the dressing- 
room, brown rep silk, glittering with passamenterie. 

Very few of the guests cared who was to be married, 
or what they were to be married for. It was a good 
place to spend an hour or two, and they were assured 
of something appropriate in the line of refreshments. 
They could see each other in dress parade, and score 
one more festive occasion for the season. 

About nine o’clock they came thronging into the 
handsome parlors of the Imperial Hotel. There 
seemed to be no one in particular to whom to pay 
the compliments of the evening, so they turned their 
attention to amusing themselves. Royse and Mrs. 
Ellis moved about with no formality, but kept up a 
round of promiscuous introductions, and saw that the 
young men who had been employed to play the piano 
and sing a few popular ballads appeared at proper in¬ 
tervals. 

La Grange was there and moved about making him 
self freely agreeable. He had changed his invitation 
somewhat, so as to include his friend Strong. His 
principles had not reached such a high point of out¬ 
look, but that he could commit this little forgery. 
His host and hostess in fact were pleased that such a 
guest should bring a friend. David found the corners 
the most agreeable to him. He looked extremely 


FESTIVITIES AT THE IMPERIAL 


375 


well, La Grange had told him, in his new dress suit 
with a waxed mustache and a barber’s finish to his 
glossy hair. He suffered a little with his gloves, but 
he kept his eyes on the tall form of La Grange, as 
the latter moved about, telling a story to one group, 
and drawing another together by his happy manners 
and quick wit. 

After a while, David saw that there was a little 
hush, and a tall man with a book was elbowing his 
way to one corner, and almost before any one knew 
it the little ceremony was over, and the people were 
moving around to congratulate the newly married 
couple. Then the crowd began to thin out, La Grange 
came for him, and David soon found himself at the 
door of a room where a table was spread with a most 
tempting collation, and for a moment he forgot his 
real purpose and work there, and would have liked 
to have slipped into a seat in front of one of the tall, 
shining, perfunctory, darky waiters. 

But La Grange was coming towards him with As¬ 
semblyman Royse on his arm. 

“You will excuse me,” La Grange was saying, for 
interrupting your program just a moment, “but some 
of your friends—” 

David almost staggered, “Friends!” 

“—have arranged a little surprise for you, and wish 
to see you for a moment in another room.” Royse 
was agreeable to anything. His imagination pictured 
at once a gold-headed cane in hand of a committee 
and with appropriate speech making. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, “most agreeable. And, my 
wife, does she come too?” 


376 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Well, no, not just yet. We will send for her a 
little later,” La Grange said, pushing on. 

David followed, indulging in a broad grin and a 
grimace behind their backs, but his nerve was unre¬ 
laxed, and his hands were under his coat tails ascer¬ 
taining the exact location of a little nickle-plated re¬ 
volver. 

Royse followed La Grange into an open door way, 
and what surprised him first was the instant closing 
of the door behind him. He turned with a nervous 
start, and his surprise deepened into amazement to 
see three men standing against the door, and a tier 
of pistols, three in all, bristled before his eyes. The 
first man was David with a triumphant glitter in his 
eye, the second was Buck Dorms, and the third was 
Millie’s boarder with a handkerchief-mask over his 
face, from which two steady gray eyes looked out. 

“The devil. What’s this?” 

La Grange touched his arm. There was a glitter 
in his eye too, and he looked as if he, too, might 
produce a weapon at any mopent. 

“You are to sit down in this chair, please, Mr. 
Royse, we have a little business with you, and we 
want to get through with it as quickly as possible.” 

Royse had recognized Buck, and he thought he 
knew what it was all about. 

“It’s a devilish trick,” he said, growing angry, “but 
you daresent hurt me.” But he sat down in the arm 
chair near the table, and in doing so he came face 
to face with a slim young woman sitting on the other 
side of the table with a child in her lap. She was- 


FESTIVITIES AT THE IMPERIAL 


377 


veiled, but he recognized instantly the girl he had once 
brought to the door of ruin. A cold desperate look 
came into his face, and he turned to La Grange. 

“Well, what do you think you are going to do with 
this confounded trap? Whatever it is, hurry up.” 

“We are willing to accommodate you,” said La 
Grange, sitting down leisurely, and assuming a busi¬ 
ness-like attitude. “Do you rceognize this lady 
here?” Royse looked at the table. 

“I am not prepared to say that I do, sir. I want 
to get out of this room—this is no time or place—”, 

“Hold,” interrupted La Grange. “Then I will 
simply state that this lady whom you know very well, 
is prepared to institute suit against you for the main¬ 
tenance of this child, with the lady you have made 
your wife this evening, as the principal witness, and 
a young lady of Hardup, Miss Hardy by name, as 
another. We simply give you a chance to com¬ 
promise here and now.” 

Royse was staring at the pale little girl lying with 
closed eyes against her mother’s shoulder. Then 
with an angry face he partly rose from his chair. 

“Why don’t you commence suit then? This is 
only a bluff. You haven’t got any suit. Let me 
out of this room or I’11s see you all in jail to-morrow.” 

But David’s hand lay so heavily on his shoulder 
he sat down with a cowed look. 

“Very well,” continued the lawyer, looking at him 
composedly, “if you don’t want to settle that, how 
would you like a criminal suit? We propose to-mor¬ 
row to arrest you for shanghying one John Ellis.” 


378 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


Royse grasped the arm of his chair convulsively; 
then with staring eyes and writhing features, a per¬ 
fect demon of guilt, he tried to get up to his feet. 
Then he burst into a hoarse laugh. 

“John Ellis is dead. I can prove it.” 

“Oh, no, I’m not.” Millie’s boarder had dropped 
his mask and stepped forward. 

Max Royse, Assemblyman, took a wild look for a 
window, but Dorms guarded the approach to the 
only one. He was trembling now, and grew so pale 
that La Grange feared a physical collapse. But he 
was looking at him with the calmness of a jailer at 
his prisoner behind the bars. 

“And I suppose you don’t want to get into trouble 
for marrying another man’s wife,” he continued, “es¬ 
pecially before the adjournment of the Legislature.” 

Royse was primarily a coward and he feared John 
Ellis, and more because he saw at one glance, that 
the Ellis who stood before him, with that same de¬ 
termined expression, was more of a man lo be known 
or feared, than the worthless drunken old Ellis, he 
had rid the lodging house of, four years previously. 
But Royse had been in a good many tight places, as 
he called them, and he was rapidly summing up his 
best way of escape as he sat there recovering his 
physical and mental balance. But reflection showed 
him clearly the peril of the present situation to his 
entire social and political plans, plans which were in 
the end purely financial ones. He turned suddenly 
to Ellis. 

“See here, old man, what do you want?” 


FESTIVITIES AT THE IMPERIAL 


379 


“Well,” answered Ellis, whose satisfied looks belied 
any complaint of injury, “I don’t know as I’ve any¬ 
thing against you. You really done me a favor. I 
had a chance to cure myself of being a drunken fool, 
and everybody knows there was nothing else bad 
about old Ellis. But I had an ownership in that lodg¬ 
ing house, and a man’s wife is worth something. 
And I’ve got more or less interest in this little woman 
and the bit of a girl there, and I guess you’ll have to 
settle with them first, or else I’m going in to that 
banquet there and have a little chat with my wife.” 

Royse brought his hand violently down on the 
table. 

“See here, La Grange,” he cried, “as long as this 
is a matter of compromise, suppose you let me out of 
this for an hour till I can get rid of that crowd in 
good shape; then we’ll come in here and fix it up.” 

La Grange sprang to his feet. “That suits us,” 
he said, “Strong and I are your guests and we will 
answer for your safe return. My clients will wait 
here.” 

Royse paused long enough to smooth his ruffled 
hair, and he went out with his two very attentive 
guests close behind him. 

The little awkward wait just before the supper did 
not materially disturb the wedding festivities. The 
daily press the next day had neat little notices of the 
hospitable affair. The fact that the bride went to San 
Francisco alone on the early morning train, did not 
become known outside of the employes at the Im¬ 
perial Hotel, and the fact that there was no marriage 


380 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCtt 

license recorded did not come to the notice of any 
one in particular, in the rush and excitement incident 
to the closing days of the Legislature. 


C1HAPTER XXXI. 


WILLIE. 

The next morning Hulda grew wearied waiting for 
some one to stir in the Strong household. David 
had taken his wife and little Nonie, and gone out the 
previous evening, and Hulda, seeing that the hired girl 
was competent to take care of David’s boy, had gone 
to her room, and from pure loneliness, had restored 
a bit of color to her cheeks by a long night’s sleep. 

Not caring to disturb her friends in the morning, 
she put on her cloak and hat and went out to walk 
back and forth under the Convent wall. It was a 
little misty as if it might rain, but the March air was 
warm and sweet, and the long grass rolled in dewy 
billows each side of her path. 

A sense of loneliness and aimlessness was growing 
over her. Her heart was filled with longing for her 
girlhood home, and the associations that were to be 
renewed, just as they had been shut off at the death 
of her mother, and which would fill her life again 
with memories, that would seem to restore that 
mother to her. Any way her mother’s spirit could 
now come back to the old cottage, and Hulda thought 
of the experience she now possessed, through which 
she could dispense kind ministrations in the name of 
that good, unobtrusive, true-hearted mother. 

331 


382 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


The Graceways were gone, but there would be 
another good pastor whom she could aid, perhaps, 
by her accomplishments and friendly offices. 

But with all these longings there came a crushing 
knowledge of a present privation, of which she was 
most conscious since David and Cis had passed 
through their crisis, and now needed her no more. 
She missed the aesthetic comforts of the Markham 
house, and the presence of the sweet little lady to 
whom she had ministered so long. How she would 
like to caress again those soft silver waves of hair, 
and sit reading to her the books for which those good 
dear Hardup friends had no taste. But she had no 
thought of crossing the Markham threshold. The 
chasm was too wide, and pride would keep her hand 
from any act to bridge it. 

Walking back and forth thinking of these things, 
the linnets singing and twittering at their nest-build¬ 
ing over her head, she raised her eyes to see David 
coming towards her, smiling in his good-natured way, 
and taking long swinging strides. David seemed to 
be in one of his old jolly humors, and she was glad. 

“Hulda, little sister,” he said, taking her arm and 
dropping down to her slow pace, “coffee is nearly 
ready, and you look as if you needed it—you look 
too pale lately. I don’t like that. I’m going to 
take you up to the Juniper Mine and put you to tend¬ 
ing ditch. I think that will warm your blood up 
again.” 

She laughed softly. “Yes, David, I’ll tend ditch 
for you, and clean up the sluice boxes. When are 
we going?” 


WILLIE 


383 


“Right off,” he cried, triumphantly, “andl’ve come 
out here to tell you the news. Well, I’ve been put¬ 
ting a first class lawyer on the track of that old 
villain, and we corraled him in the Imperial Hotel last 
night just after he’d been married to his beautiful Mrs. 
Ellis. But Millie’s boarder happens to be Mr. Ellis 
himself, you know, so we had him just where we 
wanted him. I’ll tell you all about it after breakfast. 
I’ll only tell you the sequel now. The old rascal 
was completely squelched, and my lawyer brought 
him to terms pretty quick. The papers are all to be 
fixed up to-day. He makes out regular papers of 
adoption for Nonie Royse, but I am to be made her 
legal guardian, with six thousand dollars banked with 
me for her past maintenance and further support. 
Besides she is to come in for something when she is 
eighteen. Ellis, who was shanghied by him on the 
whaler, instead of starting a criminal suit for ab¬ 
duction, gets three thousand dollars and a good mine 
at Forest Grove. How’s that, Hulda? Royse was 
pretty good natured about it at the end, too. He 
said he was paying dear for reforming and going into 
politics, but he guessed he could stand it. He act¬ 
ually took up with little Nonie, wanted to take her and 
kiss her, said she was as pretty as his other little girl 
in San Francisco; but Cis wouldn’t let him touch 
the little one. 

Hulda stood looking at him, her round eyes full of 
surprise and wonder. 

“But, Mr. Ellis and his false wife?” 

“Oh, he’s to have a divorce privately obtained, 


.384 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

and the whole thing is to be smoothed over. Now 
what do you think of my lawyer?” 

“David, he must be a grand manager. He has 
done well. Who is he?” 

“Oh, a fellow name Edward La Grange Markham. 
Know him, little sister?” He was pressing her arm, 
smiling down upon her. 

“Oh, we all know he has talent,” she said, increas¬ 
ing her steps. 

“Yes, he gets five hundred dollars from both 
clients, Ellis, and Nonie’s guardian. Oh, I forgot 
to tell you, Hulda. I am going to turn over eight 
hundred dollars to you for Nonie’s iirst year’s sup¬ 
port.” 

“Who arranged that?” she cried. 

“Oh, that was my put in.” 

“I won’t take it.” 

“Oh, yes you will. You’re simple if you don’t. 
You’ll need it, and you earned it. I want to see you 
put out more fruit trees on your place.” 

Hulda was silent. She had earned the money, 
and it would come just right, till she could get to 
teaching again. She thought of the school at Hardup. 
She could fit herself to take that position. She 
needn’t go away to Botson now, with everything 
cleared up so well, and Hardup so dear to her again. 
Then David hurried her into the house where Cis 
was fretting over the delayed breakfast. 

But David was too full of business to dally much 
over his breakfast. He took a cup of coffee and a 
bit of toast, then brought in two trunks so that the 


WILLIE 


385 


packing couid begin; gave orders that Cis and Nonie 
" should be all ready for business when he and his law¬ 
yer called with a carriage for them at twelve o’clock; 
then he was gone. 

And Cis came to Hulda, as she had done several 
times in the past two weeks, and wound her arms 
around her waist and nestled her head on her shoul¬ 
der, whispering, “Oh, Hulda, I am going to tell them 
all how you saved me. David says I must. I could 
do anything for David. Oh, isn’t he good, Hulda?” 

Hulda’s tears fell on the fair head. 

“Yes, dear, I know it as well as you. He is good, 
always.” 

Cis was dressing herself and Nonie, when Hulda 
came to her, cloaked and ready for the street. 

“Cis, I am going to send Buck for my things to¬ 
night.” 

“Why, Hulda?” 

“You know I promised to help with Willie, and 
you will be gone in a day or so. I will come up 
when Willie is better. You know you and David are 
to stay at my house for a while, and I can come any 
time.” Hulda kissed her and David’s boy and hurried 
away. She had no intention whatever of being there 
when David and his wonder-working lawyer called 
in a carriage. 

Hulda found poor Millie as unable to meet the 
shock of Willie’s second operation as she had been 
at the first. The younger child was a great deal of 
trouble, and the young mother’s nerves had been per¬ 
ceptibly weakened her by long confinement to the 

David of Juniper Guick 25 


3 86 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


house. She was alone. The boarder, she said, and 
Buck had been gone nearly all night, and part of the 
day. She knew that Buck was helping La Grange 
about something and was to be well paid, but that 
did not lighten her cares any. She was holding the 
younger child and trying to amuse Willie, and at the 
same time there was a rising of bread to bake, and 
a bit of the children’s washing to do. To have 
Hulda appear was almost like having her own mother 
come, and she gladdened at once. With her calm¬ 
voiced, warm-hearted Cherry Valley school-teacher 
to furnish the nerve strength, how things began to 
brighten up in the plain, dark kitchen! The tea¬ 
kettle on the stove began to puff .and sing and blow 
clouds of steam; the baby stopped fretting in his 
cradle to listen to it, and Millie began to step briskly 
around to put things to rights. Even the sun came 
out of a cloud and smiled in at the west window, and 
his slanting rays fell on the coiled hair of Willie’s 
new nurse, who was herding quite a flock of ragged 
woolly lambs on the edge of’the crib, while the pale 
boy’s dark eyes shone with delight. He was some¬ 
what tired of woolly lambs as objects of worship, but 
to see these decrepit creatures skip around the rail¬ 
ing of the crib and hop all over his bed in the white 
hands of the “pitty lady,” awakened all his faith in the 
capabilities of woolly lambs. Then, too, it was a 
great revivication of his fallen idols to have the rub¬ 
ber soldier ride the tin horse, and that he fell off 
made him the greater soldier. He did not note that 
with very fall of his warrior, the white hands lifted 


WILLIE 


387 


him, before his laugh died away, and that he was 
gradually placed in a new position with his pillows 
patted firmer around him. Then his blood flowed 
faster, and he was contented to lie quiet again, hold¬ 
ing his hardy soldier in his thin little fingers. This 
gave the “pitty lady” a chance to give the baby a 
gentle trotting on her knee, and when his blue-veined 
eyelids had closed over his little view of the troubled 
world, he was transferred to a gray blanket in his 
mother’s room. Hulda doubled the coarse fabric 
over him with a shiver, and she realized that her long 
period of luxurious living with Mrs. Markham had 
unfitted her for the practical efforts that were before 
her. 

A tramping of feet in the hall brought her out with 
a raised finger. But Buck and Millie’s boarder were 
too full of life and hilarity to subdue their demon¬ 
strations. Such an array of new clothes and muddy 
boots! And the boarder turns out to be quite a 
handsome old gentleman with a new business suit on, 
and a great grey overcoat, with a velvet collar. And 
the pockets of the great-coat were newly stocked with 
lambs and horses and dogs. Animals of better blood 
and pedigree altogether, with the legs warranted to 
stay on, and the paint to shine forever. And the 
packages heaped upon the table were designed to 
bring good cheer to the little household. Millie 
opened them with exclamations of delight. 

Oysters in the shell! Oh, what extravagance! 
Did Hulda know how to fix* raw oysters? Buck 
“lowed she did,” and she did. 


388 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


She soon developed an appetite herself, showing 
Millie how to prepare the oysters, serve the pine¬ 
apple, and prepare other dainties that Millie had never 
seen before. She forgot her own thoughts to help 
on the feeling of festivity in the hearts where care 
had lain so heavily, and talk with them of their pros¬ 
pects for the future. 

Ellis had already engaged Dorms to help him with 
his mine, in the spring, and Hulda grew quite awed 
to see how much Buck knew about tunnels and in¬ 
clines, and dips and spurs. While to live in Forest 
Grove was a brilliant prospect for Millie. She could 
realize the one ambitious desire, that had struggled 
into her brain, to take music lessons. 

But Dr. Welcome called towards night, and dis¬ 
tressed them all, by appointing a day and hour when 
he could come with the surgeon. 

Ellis went out to inquire particularly of him 
about it. 

“Nothing serious, nothing serious,” said Dr. Wel¬ 
come. “Just a little correction I have to make to 
heal up the open wound. The bone is straight now, 
and the leg is ready to heal up. I am afraid of fever, 
that is all.” 

“Poor little chap,” Ellis said to Hulda, who met 
him at the door. “I had just such a little fellow 
once; he died in the hospital with just such a leg as 
that. Then my wife died, and after I married again 
I took to drink. She wasn’t my kind, and after I 
took to drink, I wasn’t the kind for any woman, and 
I don’t blame her for putting me out. If you want 



WILLIE 


3 8 9 


anything for Willie, don t be afraid to call on me, 
Miss Hardy.” 

Then when he went up town that evening, he 
brought down a box of white aprons and nurse’s 
caps. Hulda could not refuse them, so she smilingly 
pinned a dainty affair of lace and puffs on the top of 
her shapely curls and coils of hair, and Millie de¬ 
clared that it was the most becoming thing, she had 
ever had on her head. 

One morning when Hulda picked up the paper Ellis 
had brought her, she saw that Assemblyman La 
Grange Markham had gone* to San Jose with his 
mother. For a moment her throat choked up, above 
her beating heart. There was Archie. What a vig¬ 
orous boyish protest he would make because she 
hadn’t come! But Dr. Welcome was at the door 
with the surgeon, and she dared not think of Archie 
or any one. 

Then came anxious days. The fever came. Then 
a touch of malarial fever threatened to burn the little 
life away. 

The “pitty lady” in white caps took all the care of 
him by day and by night, except when she allowed 
Buck or kind John Ellis to take her place while the 
child slept. 

“But for you,” Dr. Welcome had said, “the case 
would be hopeless.” 

“I hate to see you getting so pale,” said Millie 
helplessly. “When he is safe you must go away.” 

Then he grew better, gaining with bounds as chil¬ 
dren do. 


390 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


One evening John Ellis went up town for some 
needed trifle for the child. Buck and Millie slept, 
and the “pitty lady,” in her white cap and long, dark 
wrapper, sat in a chair beside the crib. The child, 
as it slumbered, held to a hand of his gentle nurse; 
and she slept lightly too, her head lying back on the 
crimson shawl she had thrown over the back of the 
low rocker. 

Ellis had met some one he knew on the street, 
and had company with him when he came back. 
A young man who seemed to have some complex 
design, for he told EIJis that he knew a great 
deal about sick children. Ellis finally became con¬ 
vinced of his competency, and was willing to give up 
his watch to him; he was more than willing, because 
he was clumsy enough about a child, and besides, he 
missed his sleep. So he went to his room in the 
same block, and the young man took the package 
that had been sent for, and went into the house just 
as Ellis might have done. He opened the second 
hall door and came into the dim room, where it 
seemed that the only light spot in it was the white 
cap of the nurse, over her fair face. But the nurse 
slept on, and after a moment’s hesitation, the in¬ 
truder laid his hat on the table, and sat down. He 
had taken desperate chances, but he was growing to 
be a desperate man. He had had quite enough of 
this wondering why Dacie wouldn't come home, and 
he wanted to know the reason. If he stood in the 
way he was quite ready to take himself out of the 
way. Then as he sat looking at that sweet, still 


WILLIE 


391 


face, another emotion almost overpowered him, and 
he bent his head, his forehead in his hands as one 
sometimes does for retrospection. 

Then the nurse wakened and came to the table 
with a swift movement. 

“Why, Mr. Ellis, you are not going to be sad to¬ 
night, are you?” she said, turning up the light of the 
lamp. 

“Oh!” she stepped back, her heart throbbing wildly, 
as she saw that head thrown up in the old defiant way. 
Then both were silent. 

“I thought you were in San Jose,” she said after 
a while. 

“I was, but we are here now,” he answered, with 
the most patient manner of humility. 

She said nothing, but stood looking at her hand as 
her fingers rested on the table. 

“I came to offer my services,” he said somewhat 
faintly. “I used to be quite a child’s nurse.” 

“I need no help.” She stole a little look at him. 

“But Mr. Strong writes me that you do. He says 
you were worn out when he left.” 

She threw a surprised look at him. He was taking 
advantage to mention David s name. 

“Besides,” he said, throwing off his mask, “can’t 
we supply your place here? I think my mother frets 
a great deal for you. I am wearing out, as a novelty, 
you see.” 

“I am sorry,” she murmured, her hand trembling 
as it lay on the table. 

“Why sorry, Miss Hardy? Come back.” She 


OAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


IV* 

stood quite still—then after a moment Willie threw 
up an arm. 

“Pitty lady.” 

She knelt by the crib, holding the little hands. 
After a moment she looked up calm and strong again. 

“Will you hand me that glass and spoon?” He 
brought it, and she gave the medicine, and handed 
back the glass and spoon with as haughty a mannner, 
as if he were quite unworthy to do such a service. 
She neither looked at him or spoke, until the child 
slept, then she moved around the table to the window 
farther from the child, yet nearer to him. 

“She may as well know now,” she said, speaking 
softly and firmly, “that I am not going back. She 
doesn’t need me and I want to go to my home. You 
are the best one to tell her.” 

“I suppose,” he answered bitterly, “it is because 
I am there. You were contented enough till I was 
to come. I don’t blame you, I am unworthy of 
your society. I am worthy of much in this life, but 
not of your consideration; but I shall not stay to 
hinder you. I shall go away, myself—” 

“I trust you will not be so unkind to your mother,” 
she interrupted, hastily. “Stay with her, it is your 
duty. Let me go to my own home in Hardup. You 
don’t know how much I want to go back, now—now 
that the trouble is all over.” 

“I understand that,” he said, gently and humbly. 
“I am glad you are going.” 

There was a long silence, then he came and stood 
close to her; he might have touched her, had he 
dared. His voice trembled slightly. 


WILLIE 


393 


“I wish we could be friends,” he said “You decided 
long ago that winter day, that we could not be more. 
But now for mother’s sake we ought to be friends. 

I don’t deserve it, God knows. I listened to the 
Cornmans. Can’t you now, for mother’s sake, for¬ 
give me? I have no right to ask you to love me.” 

He waited while she stood motionless, her hands 
clasped behind her. She lifted her eyes to the level 
of his hand that rested on the window sill. She re¬ 
membered that hand, how it had held hers so firmly 
and kindly that night so long ago at Forest Grove. 
Then her heart rose in rebellion against the hard 
fate that had been hers. After all, the best thing 
that ever came to her, would be to go back to Hard- 
up, and be free and clear-hearted again like a child. 
If she could have a taste of her girlhood joyousness, 
as when she rode out of Hardup to go and apply for 
the Forest Grove school. Here he was asking for 
her friendship. She couldn’t be a friend to any one, 
only a care-taker, a nurse, a helper. If she could 
renew her heart and her life as it was then, perhaps 
she might be a friend. But why should she show 
petulance to him? Fate had been unkind to them, 
that was all. 

Then she moved away and went to the other side 
of the table. She offered him her hand in a gentle 
and open manner. 

“Yes,” she said softly, “we ought to be friends for 
her sake. Tell her that my heart is in my own home, 
and that I am going there now. You had better go. 
I shall not need help to-night.” 


394 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


He took her hand and held it, looking at her steadily. 

There was nothing in her words or manner that in¬ 
dicated that they could ever be more than friends. 
He dropped her hand. 

“Good-night,” she said again, not looking at him. 
Then he went out, as quietly as he had come. 

John Ellis came back, and as Willie still slept, she 
let him take her place. She went to her room and 
threw herself on the bed, with the hand that he had 
held to her lips. 

A few days after, the Markham carriage stopped 
at the gate, and Mrs. Markham sent Donovan. She 
wanted Miss Hardy to come out, she wanted to see 
her. Millie came to the door. Miss Hardy had 
gone to Hardup that morning, she said. 

“And the sick child, is it better?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the mother, “Willie is doing 
splendid.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


LILA. 

One morning, a week or so thereafter, when the 
elder son of Mrs. Markham came to his breakfast 
from his morning correspondence, he found his mother 
in a state of evident irritation. 

She placed the silver coffee urn onto its stand with 
an emphatic click. 

“Dear me,” she said, “I don’t see how I can live 
without Dacie.” 

The young man shook out his napkin, with a 
thoughtful air. 

“Mother,” he said, “I am sorry you don’t make me 
any more useful than you do.” 

“I can’t always tell,” she said. “Now Wong says 
there is something wrong with the reservoir in the 
garret, that feeds the stove boiler. Now if Dacie had 
been here, she is always down in the kitchen a half 
an hour before breakfast, and would have attended 
to it. She knows how to fix it. She always goes 
up there herself. I might as well send a stick, as 
Satsuma.” 

“Suppose I offer my humble serviced, mother.” 

Mrs. Markham smiled. 

“I suppose it must be either you or Donovan in his 

395 


396 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


muddy boots. You have to bring a step-ladder in 
from the back balcony, and get up a trap door over 
the hall.” 

La Grange climbed up into the garret, found and 
remedied the little matter, and was about to swing 
himself down onto the step-ladder, when his attention 
was attracted to what appeared to be a mounted 
canvas loosely wrapped in newspaper, and tied with 
a cord. It brought to his mind what had been said 
about the lost picture on the night of his memorable 
advent there. In a few moments, he had turned the 
key of the blue room upon himself, and the canvas of 
“L* Adieu.” 

He placed it in the light and stood back to look at 
it. He knew* it all at once, its history and its mean¬ 
ing. But there was one thing there, that had not 
had a presence in his memory, and that was a look 
of tender regret on the girl’s face. He drew his chair 
where he could see it best, and sat down, and the 
present faded from his mind. He saw himself as he 
had been then—ambitious and proud, but boyish and 
self-willed, with a boy’s reason and a boy’s daring. 
That was but a child’s trick to try to help her by al¬ 
tering her credits, and it had brought Cornman’s 
judgment upon her. 

“I was not worthy of winning that girl’s pure heart 
then,” he said, as he walked the floor, “and now I am 
not able.” 

“Oh, Edward, Edward!” His mother’s voice had 
such a ring of trouble in it, he sprang to open the 
door. 


LILA 


397 


“Oh, Edward, isn’t this dreadful, dreadful!” 

Her face in its agony had lost its pretty youthful 
look. She held a bit of paper in her hand. He 
quickly encircled her with his arm. 

“Dacie is sick! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t 
have let her stay away, but I was so taken up with 
you.” 

He was reading the telegram: — 

“Miss Hardy is very sick. Doctor says dangerous.” 

“David Strong.” 

He crushed the paper in his hand, and clasped his 
mother’s waist convulsively. She looked up at him. 

“Why, Edward!” 

He turned away from her, but she came and looked 
up into his face long and steadily. 

“Why, Edward, were you fond ot her too?” 

For answer he kissed her brow, and went and sat 
on the lounge, dropping his face in his hands. She 
stood looking at him, her look of surprise slowly 
changing into one of comprehension. She drew a 
long sigh. 

“Well, well!” 

Then casting her eyes about the room she saw the 
picture, and went and stood before it. She stood 
some time without speaking. 

“Edward, tell me where you got this.” 

“In the garret.” 

She looked at it again. 

“Why, Edward, that’s you.” 

Then she went and sat by him, taking one of his 
hands in hers. 


39* 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Now, tell me, my boy, have I been keeping your 
sweetheart all this time? I thought it was strange 
she would not accept my offers of reward.” 

“No, mother, we were not sweethearts, but we 
might have been.” 

“You quarreled?” 

“Yes.” 

About what?” 

He gave her an outline of his acquaintance with 
“her Dacie.” What a luxury to tell his own loving 
mother. 

“Now tell me,” she said, “why you didn’t go to see 
her after you came here.” 

“I did, mother.” 

“What did you say.” 

“I asked her to forgive me.” 

“For what?” There was great emphasis in her 
question. He smiled faintly. 

“I don’t know, unless it was for taking her answer 
as final. May be for believing the slander about her 
for a short time. But what could I do? All the 
evidence was against her.” 

Mrs. Markham frowned. 

“M’m, well, you shouldn’t have implied that there 
was anything to forgive. What did she say when 
you asked her to forgive you ?” 

“Nothing. She said ‘good-night. ’” 

“She didn’t encourage you then.” 

“Not in the least, mother.” 

“I admire her for that,” said Mrs. Markham, ris¬ 
ing. “I understand this matter better than you do. 


LILA 


399 


But I will have to hurry, if I get the afternoon train. 
Are you going with me?" 

“Oh, my mother, may I? I will stop at Forest 
Grove, if you say so. There is a telegraph line be¬ 
tween. Why not take Dr. Welcome up?” 

She clasped her hands with a brighter look. 

“That’s just the thing. Go and see him right 
away.” 

“And, Edward,” she called, leaning over the bal¬ 
cony, “tell Dr. Welcome, no matter about his work 
here, or his fee, he must go anyway.” 

What Mrs. Markham understood so well about the 
matter was only her own way of looking at it. Dacie 
was her companion still. She had not given her up. 
Dacie had promised her not to marry. Dacie was 
true, that was all. That she should not love her be¬ 
loved Edward, that was incredible. 

The three rode down from Forest Grove toHardup 
that evening. La Grange rode outside with Hicks, 
but Hicks had very little to say. 

“What was the news about Miss Hardy?” 

“Nothing, only worse.” He cracked his whip vic¬ 
iously. Later as they rattled over the broad, hard, 
divide road, La Grange heard him muttering between 
his teeth. 

“Fools, blamed fools, every one of them!” Then 
he said: “Why, I brought that girl down, but I see 
she was too worn out to talk. So I didn’t say noth¬ 
ing to her. She sat right where you’re sittin’, all 
the way down, and all she said, was, ‘Isn’t that glo¬ 
rious, Hicks? Seems just like old times, don’t it?’” 


400 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

“I ’lowed it did, and let her alone. But Lord, as 
soon as folks heard she’d come, they just piled in to 
see her. They all pretended they’d believed in her 
all the time. Fools! Then they all asked her so 
many questions about you, and your new mother, till 
they worried her all out, and she fainted away one 
night, and Strong piled the hull crowd out of the 
house. She likes them all, she’s a lady, but they 
ought to come on to her gradual. Who’s that old 
duffer inside? Ha’n’t discovered your father, have 
you ?” 

“Oh, no, that’s a celebrated physician, Dr. Wel¬ 
come.” 

“Guns! Why didn’t you say that before?” He 
took a swift glance at his brakes, and gathered up his 
lines. “May be you think I can’t drive.” La 
Grange decidedly thought he could. He held on with 
both hands and saw the first evening stars shoot 
right and left. The pines were swaying in a west¬ 
ern breeze, and broken clouds of spring lay on the 
higher ranges. Patches of snow lay in the canon. 
But it was a fleeting panorama; soon the twinkling 
lights of Hardup came into view. The graveyard, 
the church, the parsonage, the young pines; and 
then they swung around several straggling blocks, 
and the panting horses were reined in front of the 
low brown cottage. 

La Grange went to the hotel with Hicks, and en¬ 
gaged rooms for himself and Dr. Welcome; then he 
escaped the gathering crowd who wished to see their 
somewhat distinguished representative, and came and 


LILA 


401 


walked in the grassy lane in front of the cottage. 
David came out and walked with him. 

“You see,” he explained, “in her clear spells she 
asks for your mother, and we thought she ought to 
come, if she would. Then when she’s bad she asks 
for some one named Lila. We don’t any of us know 
who Lila is.” 

La Grange knew, and he resolved she should have 
Lila, if such a thing were possible. He waited and 
took Dr. Welcome to the hotel. 

The doctor was serious in manner, but communi¬ 
cative. 

“I’m going to send for my good German nurse,” 
he said. “The girl likes her, I know. Your mother 
mustn’t sit up nights, and I don’t want any people 
that Miss Hardy knows around her bed.” 

“Will she live?” 

“I’ll stay by her a few days,” answered the doctor, 
“but she is a highly organized girl, high blood. I 
don’t know, I won’t know for a week.” 

La Grange Markham went to Forest Grove in the 
morning and talked to his constituents, and began on 
the task of clearing up his work preparatory to mov¬ 
ing his office to Sacramento. But every morning 
Hicks would meet a solitary horseman on the divide, 
who rode up to the stage to receive the written mes¬ 
sage Mrs. Maikham would send. 

In a few days Dr. Welcome passed through, and 
his report lightened up the pale face of the eager 
questioner. 

A week later he received a letter from his mother. 

David of Juniper Gulch 26 


402 


DAVID or JUNIPER GULCH 


“She is better,” it ran. “The Strongs are going 
out to their ranch. I am going to stay. I like it 
here, and if you will come down I can see more of 
you than in town. Go down to Sacramento, and 
send away the cook, and bring Satsuma up here. I 
am going to keep the German nurse. She can cook 
very well. Have Satsuma close the rooms, and Don¬ 
ovan knows all about taking care of everything. Tell 
Satsuma to bring his bed, a roll of Smyrna rugs, a 
few china cups and saucers, half a dozen silver 
spoons and forks, and—” 

La Grange ran to catch his train and gave the list 
his attention going down. 

So it happened as the sick girl began to notice the 
birds singing on the roof, and the sounds below her 
in the rooms that she became used to the voice and 
step of La Grange in the house. And she noted it 
without question. Mrs. Markham had control of 
everything, and her son had a right to be there. Some 
days he would be gone and Mrs. Markham would come 
up and remark that her boy had gone to Forest 
Grove, but she had nothing further to say about him. 

If the girl was always awake when it was time for 
the old stage to rumble up the lane in the evening, 
and listened with a brightened look on her face, Mrs. 
Markham seemed not to be aware of it. 

The sunny day in the latter part of April, when 
the nurse first put her in a rocker at her window in 
her room, was bright as birds, and bees, and flowers, 
and the festivity of Spring could make it. 

Over the brown porch roof Hulda could see a strip 


LILA 


4°3 


of her garden with the rose trees arched over the 
gate, a mass of white bloom. She saw the lane 
fringed with grass and flowers, and beyond, the 
weather worn dwellings, all with roses clambering 
over and around them, and bowered in fruit trees. 
None of those houses had changed since she had gone 
away. The people seemed a trifle older, and the 
children had grown, that was all. It was home, and 
such sweet rest. She closed her eyes and when she 
opened them, Mrs. Markham stood before her with a 
cluster of great, heavy-headed roses, white, and 
crimson and pink, the old-fashioned roses her mother 
had loved. 

She took them with a grateful glance and laid them 
against her cheek. 

“Well, now, I’ll not have Edward get you any 
more, if you are going to cry over them.” 

The girl lowered them -into her lap. 

“Oh, Auntie, forgive me, my mother’s roses!” 

Then it seemed but a few days, till she came down 
stairs dressed in a long, trailing, cream-colored wrap¬ 
per, with a cloudy pink scarf about her shoulders. 
She wanted to sit in the kitchen door in the morning 
sun, and that was where Satsuma took her rocker. 
Mrs. Markham sat in her chair outside, and Satsuma 
hovered around, his face wreathed in smiles. 

It seemed but incidental that Mrs. Markham’s son 
should come by. He had a spade in his hand. 

“Ah!” he said, in the most ordinary way, “glad to 
see you down.” Then he sat on the step facing his 
mother. “Well, now, Miss Hardy,” he said after a 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


4°4 

moment, “tell us how you like our housekeeping. 
Haven’t we done well? I’ve nailed on, I don’t know 
how many pickets, and spaded the garden and pruned 
your roses, and now I’m thinking of plowing the or¬ 
chard.” 

“Do you call that housekeeping?” said his mother, 
and Hulda smiled, the pink creeping over her cheeks. 

“David said he would have it plowed,” she said 
quietly. 

“Then I think I will build a barn,” La Grange 
continued. 

“A barn!” cried both women. 

“Yes, I want a saddle horse. The stage starts too 
early for me.” 

“You’re talking nonsense,” said Mrs. Markham. 
“Now go off to your spading.” 

He understood that to be orders to go, and he 
went. Later he came in with a bunch of wild flowers 
and laid them in Hulda’s lap as he went by, and with 
this manner of easy nonchalance and pleasant insist¬ 
ence, he came into the girl’s life again, and their ac¬ 
quaintance seemed to begin just where it had really 
ended on their last meeting in Cherry Valley. 

Then life in the little Hardup home went on like 
a dream. Hulda gained strength among her roses, 
or walking around the village talking to her old 
friends. Some days La Grange would be away, 
some days he would have the dining-room table lit¬ 
tered with his correspondence, or he would read to 
the two women, on the porch under the roses. They 
liked to have him read the editorials in the papers, 
and tell them why they had been written. 


LILA 


405 


Mrs. Markham and her son spoke of returning to 
Sacramento, when he would be ready to open his law 
office there, but nothing was said to Hulda about her 
returning with them, and she was glad. It would be 
a lonely day the day that they should go, but she 
could see her way clear as to her future life in Hardup. 

One warm day she went out among her beloved 
pines, and beyond in an open place, where the pop¬ 
pies grew flaming in a perfumed sheet over the field. 
She wore a soft white dress, and when she came back 
the poppies were fastened at her belt and throat, and 
lying in her arms. 

She came musing leisurely around to the front of 
her house scattering poppies as she walked. Then 
she suddenly dropped them all in a golden mass, and 
ran through the rose avenue to the front gate. Had 
Mrs. Woods come? 

There was Lila tied to the post, her nose in the 
grass, and just as she used to be, but for the new 
saddle and bridle upon her. A card hung from the 
horse, and the wondering girl took it in her hand. 
“To you, Dacie, from Mrs. Markham and her son.” 

The girl slipped her arms around the pony’s neck, 
and rested her head upon her. A long time she stood 
there, with a throbbing heart. Then taking the card, 
she went in and found Mrs. Markham. 

“Auntie, I can’t accept such a present.” Mrs. 
Markham looked up from her book. 

“I can’t help it, Edward bought her.” 

“Then you can give it to Archie.” Mrs. Markham 
caught the girl’s dress and drew her down to her. 


406 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


“Dacie, didn’t you find us for each other?” 

“Yes, but I can’t accept pay for it, neither will I 
allow you to pay Dr. Welcome and the nurse.” 

“Oh, that isn’t it, Dacie, we love you for it.” 

“I know you do, Auntie,” murmured the girl, “but 
your son has no right to give me presents, and I must 
not accept them.” 

“Well, then you must talk to him about it. You 
never object when Archie gives you things. There, 
you’ve got a lace handkerchief in your pocket now 
that Archie sent last week.” 

The girl hid her face in the elder woman’s lap. It 
was rosy with blushes. Mrs. Markham waited a 
while, then, in pity she lifted ihe face and kissed the 
white brow. 

“Go now, don’t trouble me about it. Go and have 
a ride, and if you want, I will buy the horse from 
Edward and give it to Archie.” 

The girl was glad to go away with her blushes. 
She ran to her room and looked at Lila from her win¬ 
dow. The temptation was too great. She opened 
her old trunk and took out her old habit and the rid¬ 
ing cap, that she had worn on that fatal snowy ride 
from Forest Grove. She had to change her coils of 
hair, and the cap would not cover all her curls. She 
found a bit of thin veiling to tie them down. She 
came down the stairs so softly that Mrs Markham 
did not hear, and Satsuma, reading in the garden, 
only saw her as she rode away. Another rider came 
up shortly after. 

“Which way did she go, Satsuma?” 


LILA 


4°7 


Satsuma pointed out past the schoolhouse. The 
second rider went on; there was but one road that 
way. Later he rode down a slope and came to a 
broad, running stream with shallow water rippling 
over the pebbles. Lila and her rider were down the 
stream a ways. She had ridden down the bank and 
was pulling ferns from over her head. The horseman 
came through the ripples to her, but he saw that he 
was observed. 

“May I not get them for you?” he asked, reining 
his horse close to her. 

She turned Lila’s head and her own, away. “You 
are very kind, Mr. Markham.” 

He rode in between her and the bank and began to 
reach for the objects of her desire. He only pulled 
one at a time, however, and troubled her to take 
them severally. But the third one was not a fern, 
and she threw it away. 

“Well!” he exclaimed, “how can you expect me to 
know a fern from a brake? Tell me how you like 
Lila.” 

“It’s gloroius to be on her again,” she said drop¬ 
ping her eyes, “but I can’t accept her from you. I 
will buy her of you.” 

“Very well,” answered La Grange, with his old 
coolness. “I think we can easily make terms. I 
have something that belongs to you, that I will take 
in exchange.” She looked at him in surprise. “Only 
it is not an equal exchange. There will be about 
three hundred dollars coming to you. Let me see. 
Lila and her saddle are worth about one hundred dol- 


408 DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 

lars, and the picture I want is worth at least four 
hundred. I have it in my room at Sacramento. It 
is called‘L’ Adieu.’” He reached and caught her 
hand. “God bless you for painting that picture, 
Dacie. When I saw it I knew that at some time you 
cared for me.” 

Her face was turned away, but he did not release 
her hand. “May I have the picture?” 

Her head was so bowed that he just caught the 
words. “No, I can’t sell the picture.” 

“Give it to me then.” 

“No, I cannot do that.” 

He dropped her hand and then guided his horse out. 

“Were you going up to Strong’s?” 

“I was going that way,” she said. 

“Very well, perhaps I may go too.” 

She turned to him with flashing eyes as they rode 
up out of the stream. 

“You had no right to take that canvas out of the 
garret. How did you know it was there?” 

He rallied bravely to his own defense. 

“I had to fix reservoirs in your absence. I found 
it accidentally. Why didn’t you stay and protect it ?” 

She made no reply, and they went on. 

“I suppose,” he said bitterly, cracking his whip 
viciously in the air, “that you will always look upon 
me as a man who alters credits and tells lies. My 
case is quite hopeless, I know that.” 

“But oh, Mr. Markham, I didn’t say that,” she 
cried, turning for* one moment her shining eyes to 
him. His face changed. He lowered his whip, and 
came closer to her. 





“Oil, Edward, I have loved you always, always.” 


David ol Juniper Gulch. 







































































































































































LltA 


4<>9 

“Then, dear girl, why don’t you let me tell you 
how I love you. Don’t I actually deserve you more 
than mother does?” 

She let him take her hand while she glanced up 
archly. 

“And why, sir?” 

“A prior claim—an attachment, and an old one, 
too.” He took hope when he saw her sudden blushes. 

“And now,” he said, wheeling the horses about, “we 
are not going up to Strongs. I am going to serve 
that attachment, or I am no lawyer.” 

But she had recovered her presence of mind, and 
the serving of the attachment was not so easy, al¬ 
though he pleaded his case eloquently. 

Kind dusk had fallen when they reached the house. 
But when he took her from the saddle, he imprisoned 
her head against his shoulder, and kissed her cheek 
and lips. 

“Oh, Edward, I have loved you always, always.” 

“Darling,” he said looking into her eyes, “now we 
can talk over those dear old days. I once thought I 
would have no time for love making, now, dearest, I 
shall have no time for anything else.” 

Mrs. Markham met them at the door. 

“It’s all right, mother,” he said, “I’ve traded the 
horse for a picture.” 

“Oh, you silly children,” she exclaimed, drawing 
Hulda from his embracing arm into the house. “Go 
put those horses up, Edward, tea is waiting.” Then 
she embraced the girl and kissed her lovingly. “Now 
my happiness is complete,” she said. 


410 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


But there was not much eaten at that tea. La 
Grange sat idling with his fork, and looking at the 
girl in a creamy white dress, a mass of poppies on 
her breast, whose soul shone in her face now, and 
whose eyes were lifted with, the old bright frankness, 
as in the Cherry Valley days. 

Mrs. Markham reclined in her rocker, holding and 
petting “her Dacie’s” hand. Not on that first deliri¬ 
ously happy evening, or at any other time, was she 
jealous of the young people’s abstraction in each 
other. She let them take horse back rides and talk 
interminably in the moonlight in the rose garden. 

But after a week or so she insisted upon a hearing. 
Things could not always go on that way. There 
were arrangements to be made. 

But Hulda had already decided on one thing; that 
she would remain for the present in the home of her 
childhood, and be married in the Hardup church, sur¬ 
rounded by the people who had known and loved her 
mother. 

“Then I set the time for the middle of June,” said 
Mrs. Markham, decidedly, “so that Archie and all of 
us can go to Monterey.” 

This decided upon, Mrs. Markham and her son 
went on their long-deferred trip to Rocky Divide. 
Mrs. La Grange and her children, the eldest, a sturdy 
boy of sixteen, were brought down from the Divide by 
them, and settled in Forest Grove, where the school 
facilities were good. Mrs. Markham felt that she 
owed the children something for having taken away 
their foster brother. Her obligations were fulfilled as 


LILA 


4 II 

much as John Ellis would allow, for after a year or 
so he married the widow and took the six children to 
his paternal heart. 

Hulda, at Hardup, kept the German woman, took 
in a village girl as companion, and lived till her wed¬ 
ding day in the now doubly precious home of her 
childhood. But she had a studio added to the cot¬ 
tage and allowed David to enlarge the orchard. She 
had decided to keep the old place for a summer home 
and rest resort, whenever they might wish to come 
to it. 

Mrs. Cornman came down from Forest Grove with 
Hicks one night. Hulda took her in graciously and 
forgivingly. She staid a week, then seemed loath to 
go away. In one of Hulda’s daily letters to her 
lover, she said: “There is no use for me to try to 
harbor resentment against any one, I can’t do it, es¬ 
pecially in these happy days.” 

La Grange smiled over this, and then laughed 
heartily over one he had received from David Strong, 
in which he told of a little fun they had been having 
in Forest Grove. It seems that Hicks had been get¬ 
ting drunk. In this irresponsible condition he had 
met Joseph Cornman, arrayed in a spotless linen dus¬ 
ter, and incidentally or accidentally, the tipsy man 
had fallen against the “dictionary old maid,” and 
rolled him into a mud hole that existed perpetually 
by a saloon watering trough. As this was the only 
spree Hicks had ever been known to indulge in, peo¬ 
ple wondered, and David, any way, saw the point. 

So much fun, however, was made of the .unfortu- 


DAVID OF JUNIPER GULCH 


412 

nate pedagogue, that he was glad to remove from 
town, and when he ran for the County Suprintend- 
ency, he was surprised to note that the saloon element 
had defeated him. 

Despite Hulda’s protest Mrs. Markham continued 
to amuse herself planning and ordering dresses for 
her ward’s trousseau. Hulda had to submit gra¬ 
ciously, and take little trips down to Sacramento to 
have them fitted. She knew they would be appropri¬ 
ate in the hospitable home she would keep with the* 
dear new mother in the old Markham mansion. 

But the wedding dress itself was purchased and 
made in Hardup, and the Hardup women were happy. 
The dress was of fine white tulle, flowing in long- 
draperies, and trailing as the fond Hardup women 
would have it, a yard or more on the ground. But 
it was finally trimmed at the last moment, with the 
orange blossoms that Archie sent by express, and Cis 
hung around the bride a rich shimmering veil, that 
could not be refused from David. The bride walked 
through the pines to the church on David’s arm, Cis 
and Millie followed, laughter and merriment mingled 
with their decorum. 

The old church bell hanging on its time-blackened 
frame by the church-yard gate, filled the air with its 
sweet and mellow tones, and all Hardup, seemingly, 
was crowded into the new church. 

Late arrivals from Cherry Valley waited to catch 
a glimpse of the bride, and Hicks drove up with a 
crowd from Forest Grove, for the public wedding of 
so popular a man was a drawing attraction. 


LILA 


413 


Archie as best man, and demure little Lucy Wel¬ 
come as bride’s-maid conducted the bride and David 
down the aisle to the altar, where Mrs. Markham in 
shimmering silk waited with her son. 

The simple Methodist ceremony followed, and the 
gentle, great-hearted girl, whose soul was clear as 
light, and whose hand had never refused aid or corn- 
fort to any who suffered or needed her, placed her 
life in her lover’s keeping, and knew that it would be 
blessed with every gracious gift of his love, and the 
bounties of his noble hand. 

“And what God has joined together, no man is 
able to put asunder,” said the good pastor, as he 
gave them his blessing, and many there with moist¬ 
ened eyes, said “Amen.” 


THE END. 


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World contains 
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half the amount 
of useful informa¬ 
tion that will be 
found in this one. 


It is the only 
one containing a 
frontispiece of the 
Great Noah Web 
ster in his study 


DON’T BE 

DECEIVED 


IT CONTAIN 

Catch Words 
correctly 
spelled. 


Gazatteer of 
the World 
revised to 
latest census 


Perpetual 

Calendar. 


Rules 
of Spelling. 


Use of Capital: 


Marks of 
Punctuation 
and howto 
use them. 


Rules of 
Etiquette. 


Parliamentary 

Rules. 


Values of 
Foreign Coins. 


Speeches 

and 

Toasts for 
Sundry 
Occasions. 


Bound in Russia Leather, Full Gilt, Indexed; Silk Cloth, Red Edges, 


Indexed. WRITE FOR TERMS. 

























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